Before We Are Forgotten
by Francesca Wayland
Summary: During the new phases of their intimate relationship, M&S investigate two connected crimes that occurred in rooms 'locked from within.' It initially seems like a familiar and personal case for Mulder, but it comes to most seriously affect Scully.
1. Teaser

**Summary: A prominent Silicon Valley scientist, his wife, and their babysitter are brutally murdered in their home, with no sign of the killer despite the fact that the house was locked from within. Meanwhile, their three children vanish from out of an upstairs room that was also barred from the inside.**

**A joint investigation between the San Francisco Police Department and the FBI fails to explain these events, and so a member of the FBI team appeals to the agents of the X-Files. Mulder and Scully agree to take the case, while also adjusting to a new intimate relationship in their personal lives.**

**Initially, the case seems familiar and personal for Mulder, but as the shocking events unwind and decades-old secrets are revealed, it comes to have serious emotional repercussions on Scully. Then, just when they believe they have finally resolved the case and put its traumas behind them, an unexpected threat emerges that could prove the most devastating of all, and separate the partners forever.**

**Episode References: _Fight Club_ (this is set directly following that episode), _Closure, Per Manum_, and _Theef_.**

**Author's Note: This fic was originally inspired by a certain 'fairy-tale,' but once this story took on its own shape, it came to only _very loosely_ resemble the original tale. But maybe you can still guess which one it is...  
**

* * *

**TEASER**

Winnie Love was frustrated. Winnie Love was indignant. Winnie Love was a 12-year old whose parents didn't give her any respect! She was thisclose to being a teenager but she might as well be a 2-year-old like her little brother, the way they acted.

"Now, I've double checked that all the doors and windows are locked, so you don't have to remember to do any of them except the front door," her mother Marie was telling her as she fastened a back to her expensive diamond earrings. "And I'll tell Sarah the same thing. . .who, by the way, will not be getting any grief from you tonight." She caught her daughter's eye sternly in the mirror's reflection as Winnie watched.

'Oh come on, Mom," Winnie moaned, rolling her eyes and flopping backwards onto her parents' bed. "I'm too old for a babysitter, this is ridiculous! I should be the one watching Jonathan and Mikey."

"I know that's how you feel, sweetie," her mother nodded, coloring her lips with sheer berry lipstick and then smacking them. "And yes, you're growing up. Soon I know you'll be ready for that responsibility, but in the meantime, Sarah is on her way, and I don't want you challenging her authority. . ."

"She's only two years older than me!"

Winnie's father Geoff entered the room wearing his tuxedo and Winnie tried for a last-ditch entreaty as her mother turned and straightened his bow tie. "Dad—Daddy, can't you let me prove to you that I'm trustworthy? I'll clear out the dishwasher for a week, I'll walk Poppy everyday, I'll, I'll—" she suddenly broke off as she saw something darting about quickly, out of the corner of her eye, but when she did a double-take it was gone. It had probably been her younger brother Jonathan, he was always skulking around being a weirdo.

They weren't listening anyway, they were too busy getting all dressed up for their stupid formal dinner to honor her dad's stupid tech research company. He was fastening her mom's fancy necklace around her throat when the doorbell rang downstairs.

"Win, could you grab that, sweetheart?" her dad asked, and she sighed deeply in a put-upon manner and flounced out.

"And be nice!" she heard her mom add.

"But aren't I always," she murmured under her breath with sugary sweetness, and forced a huge sarcastic grin on her face as she took the stairs down two at a time. It flickered out quickly when she saw the darting shape at the edge of her vision, but when she whirled around, there was nothing there. Still she had the prickly feeling that she was being watched. "Jon, quit it, you freak!" she shouted, but the only response she got was the bell ringing again.

"Winnie. . ." she heard her mom call.

"I'm getting it!" she answered, exasperated.

She wrenched the door open to Sarah Grant's cheesy smiling face, and stood aside as the slightly (only slightly!) older girl stepped in.

Gosh, what a suck-up, Winnie thought with disgust, as she watched Sarah carefully loop an old brass chain lock in place on the heavy front door. They never even used that relic, and her parents were leaving in a second, anyway! Ooh, she just hated Sarah Grant.

"Thank you for being so conscientious!" she heard her mother comment warmly, and she turned back towards the stairs to see her parents coming down and pulling on their coats.

"Run and get Mikey and Jon, will you sweetie?" her mother asked before turning to the babysitter. "Sarah, why don't you come on into the kitchen and I'll show you what you can fix yourself and the kids for dinner."

Ugh "the kids". . .including her as just a 'kid.' Winnie didn't just roll her eyes, she rolled her entire head, but she did as she was asked, and jogged up the stairs. She heard the noise of Sarah Grant kissing up to her parents by effusively complimenting their kitchen, but then she also heard a weird scrape-rattle sound. It was a creepy, irritating sound, but not as irritating as Sarah blabbering on.

"Win, did you forget to close the door after letting Poppy back in from the yard?" her dad called up, and she could hear the floorboards creak below as her dad moved towards where the weird sound came from

"No!" she huffed. Jeez, didn't they think she could do anything at all? It was probably the washing machine in the basement; it was always making funky noises.

But when she heard the sound again as she walked down the upper hall, it filled her with a certain sense of unease. That didn't actually sound like the washer. But she did close the door behind Poppy, she did! She'd even locked it this time, and her mom said she'd double-checked.

She shrugged and dismissed the weird noise, and the anxiety it had momentarily caused, and turned into their play room where she found Jonathan engrossed on the computer with headphones on, and Mikey intently piling blocks. But just before she could move into the room, her heart dropped from her chest as an icy sweat instantly drenched her body.

She had heard the scrape-rattle noise again coming from just below Jon's bedroom downstairs, this time louder, and it filled her with immediate, total, and indescribable dread. It was almost like she expected it, then, when her father's ragged shout burst up the stairs into the upper hall. It raised in pitch and hoarseness, but then got cut off with a wet spluttery sound as quickly as it started, just as he had seemed to cry out, "Run-!"

Winnie groped air for several seconds before her claw-like hand found the doorway, and she flattened herself against it, frozen, her heart roaring impossibly, painfully loud in her ears. But she could still hear the sudden, nightmarish events unfolding downstairs. She wished she couldn't hear, but she could.

Sarah Grant and her mother were screaming, and their piercing cries were increasing in terrified ebbs and flows, but the scrape-rattle, rattle-scrape moved rapidly across the floorboards towards them and one set of shrieks got cut off with a loud anguished grunt. The other screams—her mother's!—faded into low animal whimpering, and Winnie heard her try to dash to the stairs, trying to get to them, her children, but then she too gave a guttural shriek. She wasn't coming any closer! Why wasn't she coming?

"Winnie, get out, get all of you out! Get out—!"

Winnie didn't recognize the voice. She knew it was her mother's, but she didn't know that voice. It wasn't her mom's teasing voice, or scolding voice, or loving voice. That voice, more than anything, punctured a hole in her sanity, and she distantly felt something wet seep down her leg. She didn't know when Poppy had started barking and snarling wildly, but she was, and that was the sound that apparently broke though Jon's headphones. That, and Mikey's increasingly hysterical wails. Jon ripped the headphones off and whirled around in his chair to face her, staring at her with huge, quivering eyes. He opened and closed his mouth but only a high-pitched keening noise came out.

Then Poppy's barks were cut off in a whimpery yelp. So not even their big, overprotective dog could protect them from what was downstairs. . .

"Jon! Jon!" She whispered in a strangled rasp, the breath in her lungs refusing to cooperate, the colors in room flashing and swirling nauseatingly as tears gushed from her eyes. "I think—s-someone—is. . .downstairs." She was going to hyperventilate, or choke, or both. "I th-think. . .someone just, just, ki-k-killed Dad. And Poppy. And Sarah. I—I think they're going to ki-kill M-mom."

He stood quickly, knocking over his chair, and just stood there, gaping. Oh he looked so young, he looked so, so young and terrified. And then her mother's cries for them to run abruptly ended, and Jon's knees slumped and he violently heaved up on the floor. "No, no. . ." he whimpered in between gagging. "W-w-we need to save her."

But the shuddery-scraping noise was now on the stairs. It made the wood strain and screech, so it was heavier than anyone else she knew. John scrambled backwards, slipping in his vomit, looking crazy from fear; in one instant he had been stalking monsters in his video game—the next, he was being stalked in this waking nightmare. Mikey's face looked ready to burst like a giant tomato with the strain of his shrieking, and seeing that suddenly ignited Winnie's flight instinct. She scrabbled off the side of the door and slammed it closed, then somehow found a burst of strength to push a heavy wooden chest of drawers across the entrance. A wayward nail sticking out of its side gouged a bloody gash into her palm, but in her rush of adrenaline, she didn't even feel it. She scooped Mikey off the floor and up in her arms, and held on fiercely despite his flailing legs and fists that beat down hard all around her.

"We can't now," Winnie hyperventilated, realizing that she was sobbing as hard as Mikey. "Mom's dead. And dad. It's coming—we need to save ourselves. Open the windows!"

Jon's shook his head stupidly, in shock, and so Winnie shoved the hysterical toddler in his arms and ran to his windows, snapping the locks out of place and then yanking upwards. Oh God, they wouldn't budge past a few inches. They wouldn't move more AT ALL. But why?! She had unlocked them!

"Come on, come on!" she screamed, pulling with all her might, her muscles bunching up under her skin and tying themselves in knots and blood smearing under her hands, but despite her burst of strength, the window still refused to slide upwards. Then she remembered. At the front of their Victorian house—and the play room was at the front—there were intricate panels of glass along the tops of the windows, whose wooden frames prevented a person from opening them all the way. They could be lifted about half a foot inches to let air in, but that was it. Winnie looked down frantically through a haze of tears and panic. They were open that far, but would go no further. There was no way anyone could fit through there, not even Mikey. She would have to break the window, that was the only way.

Suddenly Jon's bedroom door rattled, and they all heard the shuddery-scrape sound clearly. But up close it was more than just a shuddery scrape. Underneath, there came a sound like a dozen people greedily sucking through straws that varied in size from very narrow to thick.

The rattling faded, then suddenly there came a deafening thud that reverberated against the door, and sent shockwaves up through their feet. With abject horror, Winnie saw that the chest of drawers had been shoved forward a couple of inches.

"No no NO," Jon screamed, transported with fear and helplessness, and Winnie desperately grasped his desk chair and heaved it over her head. The first time, it didn't break the window, it only left a small hairline crack. The chair bounced backwards, and Winnie let out a howl of frustration.

Then, just as she was about to lift the chair above her head again, she felt her senses fade out, and time seemed to slow. The only thing that was heightened was her eyesight, and she noticed the darting shape flickering at the corner of her vision again. This time when she whirled around, the chair still above her head, it didn't vanish.

It was a bright ever-shifting pure white light, like a starburst-shaped flame. With every flicker of shifting brightness within its core, it gave a soft tinkling sound that seemed to somehow drown out the terrifying noises outside the door, despite seeming ever so quiet and soft. Winnie glanced towards Jon and Mikey and saw that she wasn't the only one seeing it. They also both stared, transfixed, equally awe-struck and temporarily forgetful of the evil thing in the hall. Instead, a wave of peace flooded into Winnie's horror-ravaged soul, and she suddenly found herself remembering a happy day when she and her family had been all together and content. As the gently ringing grew louder, the happy memory grew stronger, and a diaphanous black hole suddenly opened in the air in front of the window. At first it looked like a tiny snag had opened up into deep night, and was no bigger than a dime, but as it widened it looked more like a richly colored oil spot, iridescent with rainbow colors, yet clearly a portal.

Then, when it became an oval about three feet tall and two feet wide, it stopped growing, and sat there in space, shimmering and waiting.

From out of the hole extended a lithe arm, and an open hand. It might have been attached to a body on the other side, but all she could see what that disembodied hand, reaching out to her. The soothing light passed through to the other side; Winnie could hear it echoing back faintly.

She didn't think, she didn't analyze. She reached through the gaping black hole and took the hand, then turned around and grasped Jon around the forearm, who in turn held Mikey tightly. Together, they all pitched headfirst into the darkness and the unknown, and the unseen murderous thing in the hall gave a shriek of frustrated rage.


	2. Part 1

Dana Scully stood in the doorway of the cramped and eclectic basement office she shared with her partner, with her coat still on, steaming coffee in her hand, and a furrow deepening in her brow.

"Another case already? _Mulder_, we just got out of the hospital and back from Missouri. . .don't you want some time to decompress and recover?" She knew her voice held a hint of a whine, but she was so tired of planes, rental cares, and airports that she didn't care. She was barely through the door, but already she sensed the day heading down an entirely different course than she had hoped.

Mulder's nervous energy, as he paced around the office looking for something, answered her question. Now that he had a new project, what was 'decompressing' and 'recovering' for her would be a tortuous standstill for him.

"We're fine though now, right Scully?" Her faced throbbed and she wanted to say that he could speak for himself, but he just went on. "And it can't wait. Look at it this way: at least you're still packed."

"But I'm not," she protested. "I either had to throw away those clothes, or get them dry-cleaned. I'd have to pack again." She crossed her arms and watched him rummage around, feeling petulant. She had thought that she'd have at least one day to get through her email inbox, work on her write-ups at her desk rather than in between commuter flights on her laptop, and take a long lunch on the Mall while there were still some cherry blossoms. But no, Mulder already had another case on his radar, and the Missouri case was forgotten.

"Well you're a pro by now, right? Shouldn't take you long." He was clearly only half listening, as he sorted through stacks of arcane reference books, rifled through files, and lifted up his computer keyboard to glance underneath.

"What are you looking for?" she asked, giving in with a sigh. She was dismayed that she would have to face the banality of more travel, but at least the work itself was never boring. And judging by Mulder's level of distraction, it would be a good one.

He paused to peer into an open drawer before he answered, and she left the doorway to set down her coffee on her desk and shrug off her coat.

"Early this morning—I guess late last night for him—I got an interesting email on my Blackberry, which also said I should check out some documents faxed into our office. . . I've just looked at them—"

"So that's why you left before I got up," Scully interrupted pointedly.

He stopped searching and stared at her for a moment, sheepish.

"Why didn't you wake me?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, but you looked like you were really knocked out. . ." He grimaced. "Uh, I mean you just looked like you needed the sleep, and I wanted to check it out to see if it was worth our time." He checked her face for her OK.

"So the email and faxes. . ." she sighed, deciding to let the matter go, and he got back to his canvass.

"Right, they came from an investigation of what at first glance seemed like a pretty straight-forward case. But it soon became pretty clear that it was an X-File; apparently we left quite an impression at his office, and so he immediately thought of us."

"Mulder?" She had no idea what he was going on about.

"Special Agent Rory Montes—he's the one who emailed and faxed me. But it should be interesting to see what his SAC says when we show up; his email gives the ides that she wasn't too impressed with his idea of us joining the investigation."

"Show up where, exactly?" Scully prompted warily, perching on her desk and watching him hunt.

"Frisco!"

"So, back to the south again." She tried to sound nonchalant, but they had just, just come back from that part of the US.

"Huh?" He cocked his head at her. "Oh, no not Frisco, Texas. No. . . The City by the Bay, San Fran, where Tony Bennett left his heart. . .you know." She was treated to the sight of his wool-blend clad ass as he bent over to check under his desk.

"Oh. _San Francisco_," Scully annunciated.

"Oh right, we East Coasters say it _all_ wrong, I do apologize," he smirked, straightening back up.

"So. . .back to California then," Scully mused.

"Yes, but I _know_ you like California, Scully. . ." Mulder teased her, and she sighed.

It wasn't so much the places that bothered her, although most were not exactly what she'd call tourist destinations. It was the traveling to get to the places that wore her down. They had just been to San Francisco too, and it was a long flight, but at least it meant no interminable stretches on the interstate in a rental car once they arrived. Not only that, but it was true, she did like the place. She felt an affinity with the state and its cities since she mostly grew up in San Diego.

"Could be interesting," she allowed, somewhat grudgingly.

"Could be _very_ interesting," Mulder agreed. Then, "Aha!" He plucked up several sheets of folded paper that had been lying flat in the crease of his chair, then plopped down in it.

"Okay, you ready?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"Last week, Marie and Geoff Love, 42 and 43, and Sarah Grant, 14, were all found brutally murdered," he recounted. "The couple's dog was also found killed at the scene. The hook is, the house was completely locked from the inside."

"A 'locked room' case," Scully noted. "No wonder you're interested. . .But Mulder, there've been numerous cases like that start off like this, and they always turn out to be murder-suicides or something."

"Or 'something.' The Medical Examiner has ruled out the possibility of murder-suicide, due to body placement and wounds' locations, and the blood spatter patterns photographed by the Forensic Service Department investigators concur with those findings."

"Do you have—"

"Montes's faxed and emailed documents don't include the detailed autopsy report, but they'll avail it to us in San Francisco, so that you can confirm those findings," Mulder told her, anticipating what she was about to ask. "But the ME's been lobbied heavily by the authorities to support the theory of murder-suicide, and so far he's standing firm."

"You haven't mentioned one possibility: what if all the windows and doors had been locked from the inside except one—the front door, say—and one of the victims then locked it after the perpetrator left, to ward against further attacks? Then the person succumbed to his or her injuries, thus locking up the three victims in the house.

"That is one theory, of course," Mulder agreed. "But the physical evidence pretty much rules it out. There was no blood trail from the three bodies to any doors or windows, and judging from the photos of these killings, there would be a blood trail, or at least some droplets. Check it out." He pivoted his monitor so that she could see the digital pictures he'd been emailed, and she slid off her desk and crossed over to his. Despite looking over countless crime scene pictures, some—like these—still had the power to affect her. She grimaced at the savagery in the images.

"So no," Mulder continued as she reached for his mouse to zoom in and visually inspect the wounds, "it looks like their injuries were pretty much immediately fatal, and that they were murdered immediately, one right after another. No time to lock up behind their fled killer. That aspect of the case is the first reason Montes gives for contacting us."

"Okaaay," Scully nodded. "A homicide. The details are certainly intriguing, I'll admit, but it's a case for the SFPD. How did the FBI get involved?"

"Yep, I'm getting to that. There's also a second reason he gave: there was additional blood found in another point of the house—and at a set of windows in this case—but that blood isn't directly correlated to the primary crime scene. No, rather we have another 'locked room' within the locked room scenario. . ."

Scully raised her eyebrows, totally lost, but not wanting to interrupt him now that he was getting into his flow. He lived for expositions like this.

"The Loves had three children, 2, 10, and 12. All of them are now missing, and the kidnapping element bounced the case to the FBI. They were all set to be home that night, according to the mother of Sarah Grant, the victim who was there as a babysitter. No ransom calls, so far. Now with the two younger children, Mikey and Jonathan, there's no solid evidence that they were in the playroom at the time. It appears as though they were—a videogame was mid-play on the kids' computer, a fresh, still-wet pacifier was lying next to a pile of blocks when the SFPD arrived on scene shortly afterwards—but it's not absolute."

"But the oldest?"

"Right. The oldest, the daughter Winnie. . .We have evidence that Winnie was in this particular room before she vanished inexplicably. A door which opened up into the room was found about two inches ajar, but it was blocked by a full dresser that had been pressed up against it. Once inside, the FSD found fresh blood smears on the dresser, apparently from when she shoved it up against the door and got cut by one of its nails. The windows, which are structurally unable to open wider than five inches, were also covered in her blood. They were fully intact, but there's some physical evidence that she used a wooden chair to try and break through.

"But for whatever reason, she was unsuccessful with that, and there were no other means of exit from the room. Yet somehow Winnie—and I'm betting Jonathan and Michael, too—disappeared from it, and there are still no traces of them at all.

"And we know the blood is hers. . .how?" Scully asked, though she could admit to herself that the fact there was blood but no victim inside a room blocked off from _within_ was warrant enough for an X-File as it was.

"Well obviously we can't say so with absolute certainty because we don't have her DNA for comparison, but we can pretty damn much deduce that it is, since it's her blood-type, and her fingerprints that are in it, and hers alone. . .The parents did some sort of safety initiative with their kids' school a few months ago, where they fingerprinted them and made up cards, which the school kept on file. The SFPD compared them with the bloody prints and came up with a positive match."

Scully nodded, mulling over everything he had told her, and she suddenly came to a realization.

"Mulder," she said gently, looking into his eyes. "We've seen this sort of case before. . ."

He looked back for a moment, noting her expression, then looked away. "Yeah."

"Young kids disappearing from their rooms without a trace, just before they would have met a horrible fate. . ."

"Yeah Scully, I admit that it crossed my mind." He was suddenly grave now, but wouldn't meet her concerned gaze.

"Starlight," Scully said. "Do you really think that's what happened here, Mulder?"

He shrugged, and made a show of flattening out the creases in the folded fax.

"And if you do, do you really think you should take on this sort of case, and so soon? I don't know. . .maybe in this instance, when it's so personal, it's better left undisturbed."

His eyes suddenly flashed up at her. "The truth is never better left 'undisturbed,' Scully—especially in personal cases. . .And I _know_ you agree with me." Finally he was looking into her eyes, and she was drawn in and exhilarated by his passion, as always. "I accept what happened to my sister, and I made peace with it—I did. But that doesn't mean that I'm going to detach myself now. It's a part of me. If I can help other families find closure, or some sense of what happened because of what I experienced, I sure as hell will!"

He looked defiant, like she was going to challenge him, but she didn't. It was his decision, and even if she was the one who would have to help him through any emotional fallout, she couldn't tell him what to do. She reached across his messy desk and curled her fingers around his.

"Alright, Mulder," she sighed, wanting to believe that he really, truly had made peace with his sister's death and that there wouldn't be any emotional fallout this time. "Let's go to San Francisco."


	3. Part 2

That afternoon, their 717 landed on the tarmac absolutely flawlessly—no bumps, no listing, and no skidding—and Scully would have liked to think that was an omen for how this case would go. . .if she put much stock into such things, of course. She wondered what ever happened to applauding pilots for impressive landings, because she would have done it if it were still customary. She guessed that everyone else, just like she and Mulder, flew so often that it was too mundane to appreciate. It made her wistful, in a way.

She looked through the window at dark heavy gray skies and couldn't help but smile a little inwardly. Perhaps it was better that she didn't believe too strongly in omens, after all. . .

"Bring your arc?" Mulder leaned over her and asked, as rain started to pelt against the thick glass, and Scully gave him a full smile. When she had briefly woken up during the flight, she had found him brooding, and so it relieved her to see him in a lighter mood now. If she could help him keep it up, she would.

Later, as they were merging their rental car onto Highway 101, Mulder turned to her. "How excited are they gonna be to see us back in their fair city so soon?" he drawled sarcastically.

Scully stayed focused on the wet road, but raised her eyebrows and smiled sardonically.

Before they'd departed from Dulles, they'd both talked to Montes, who was gratified that they'd taken him seriously, but a bit apprehensive about what his SAC would say. That had been seven hours ago, and it was approaching the end of business hours on the East Coast, but was still only early afternoon in California. During that time Montes would have told his supervising agent about their arrival and Scully wondered what type of reception they could expect.

Half an hour later they parked in the underground lot of the Federal Building downtown, and without consulting the directory—they still remembered the place from their recent visit—Mulder jabbed at the Floor 13 button. "I always felt sort of at-home in this office, not sure why. . ." Mulder deadpanned.

Scully used the short ride up to take a few more glances at the abridged files they had received, but was most eager to talk to the SFPD's Forensic Service Department and ME on record. When Mulder had spoken to Montes, the other agent had promised to put them in touch with those parties as soon as possible. Yet Scully couldn't help but wonder how the SFPD would feel about an FBI agent peripherally involved in their homicide case inviting other FBI agents to crash their party. And already his SAC was miffed. It could be wearying to tread on so many toes. . .

The elevator opened to a front lobby where they presented their credentials and waited for Montes to escort them into the inner office.

Except that when an agent came out to greet them, it wasn't a younger man, but a formidable-looking older woman. She was slim but broad shouldered, and had dark eyes that Scully doubted missed a thing.

"Hi Agent Scully, Agent Mulder." She extended her hand. "Special Agent in Charge Carol Park." She gave Scully a crushing handshake, and Scully noticed Mulder suppressing a wince when she shook his.

Oh, this should be great.

"If you'll follow me in, please?"

They met each other's eyes briefly, then passed through the heavy door into a maze of desks and cubicles, before arriving at the farther side of the floor at a bank of offices. There was no sign of anyone who could have been Montes, and Scully wondered if he had been sent off in chastisement. She sighed inwardly as they entered an immaculate office whose walls were covered in orderly rows of plaques and framed awards, and whose windows faced a spectacular panoramic view. It was the diametric opposite of Mulder's and her office, and Scully jokingly wondered how comfortable he felt now. Scully felt a sudden rush of warmth for him at that thought, which made her almost forget the palpable tension in the room. . . almost.

She looked over at him, but he seemed oblivious and excited as Park seated them.

"Will Agent Montes be joining us?" he asked before she'd even sat down, and she raised her eyebrows coolly.

"Agent Montes is currently at the SFPD crime lab, going over some mutual evidence that has been one of the, ah. . .inconsistencies that have arisen in this case."

Mulder shifted a little bit forward in his seat.

"You should also know that not all of the physical evidence that was collected has been processed, yet. There was some controversy over whether to adhere strictly to jurisdiction and send all the evidence relating to the scene of kidnapping to the Quantico labs. We found, though, that there's just too much crossover and one hand might not know what the other is doing. So for the moment we've decided to remain consistent and use the crime lab here. It's a good thing, too. Not only is it excellent with in terms of technology, but by keeping it in-house, we've managed to catch these 'inconsistencies' that I've mentioned. The SFPD has so far been very gracious in letting us use their facilities and resources in conjunction with their own investigation.

"And. . .on that note. . ." She sighed shortly and pursed her lips, as if she were going to share something with them against her better judgment. "I'd like to extend that same consideration to you. I wasn't looking to have any agents from across the country, let alone the X-Files division, come on board, and I certainly would have appreciated it if you had had the professional courtesy of running a 540 form by me first," she added icily, "but. . .you're here now. And if we ever have a hope in solving these tandem cases, the theme must be cooperation. So—" another reluctant sigh "—I'll arrange for passes to this building and access to one of our offices for the duration of your stay. Also, you can have access to all our files and resources, as long as it doesn't interfere with any course of investigation that my own agents might be following."

"We appreciate that," Scully said immediately, relieved that they would be able to have the independence to pursue the investigation without having to tiptoe constantly.

Not that she thought Mulder would do so anyway. "Then you wouldn't mind if Agent Scully takes a look at the autopsy reports and forensic evidence right away?" he asked, confirming her thoughts.

"Like I said, Agent Mulder, the SFPD has been very cooperative since we're sharing a crime scene. You're part of this investigation now—" she looked slightly pained at that "—and so I see no reason why they wouldn't be as accommodating for you as they've been for us. . ." Scully could tell that Park's professionalism kept her from vocalizing her actual skepticism, but she couldn't hide it from her expression. "But just in case, Agent Montes can coordinate you with the proper officers, for now. You can call his cell for directions."

"We know the way," Mulder told her.

"Oh, that's right," she replied, her cold politeness slipping a bit. It was cryptic, but Scully could easily interpret it.

Every time she and Mulder finished an investigation at a regional office, they left behind a substantial wake of gossip and intrigue. Rumors had no doubt swirled around their recent case there (a vengeful father that was violently targeting a doctor and his family). And then just when they'd likely died down, Mulder and Scully had returned to provide them with fresh fodder. At the beginning, it bothered Scully more than she'd let on, but now nothing could ever entice her to leave Mulder's side, let alone some idle speculation from people she didn't even know. _Especially_ now, since they had more invested in each other than ever before.

"So, I'll arrange to have the paperwork done to approve you for this case on my end," Park was concluding as Scully came out of her minor daydream, "and let you know which office will be yours." The SAC was barely up from her seat when Mulder was already at the door, obviously restless after the long flight and impatient to start the investigation.

"You'll call us then?" he asked, his hand on the doorknob.

Scully couldn't help but bite back a smile as she watched Agent Park fight to remain composed. The woman obviously felt Mulder had dismissed her, not the other way around. But unsurprisingly, Mulder didn't notice; he was already out the door without a second glance back.

* * *

She and Mulder made good time despite the rain that was beginning to come down in earnest—fifteen minutes after heading back to their car, they were pulling into a spot across the street from the Hall of Justice. As they made their way up the steps and towards a large set of glass doors, a skinny but wiry-muscled young guy propped open one of them and held up his hand.

"Agents Mulder and Scully?" he asked, and Scully recognized his voice from their phone conversations.

"Agent Montes," she said, stepping in quickly with Mulder's hand at the small of her back. She was correct in her impression that he was young, but, she saw, he still wore the stresses of the job on his face. Slight crow's feet lined his dark hazel eyes, and his dark hair was sticking out at a few odd angles. Unconsciously, she finger combed her own dampened hair from her face.

"Right. Well, welcome back to San Francisco. And let me thank you again for agreeing to take a look at this. I know that the other agents think it's a bit rash to bring in outside help, but. . .I think it warrants it."

"So do we," Mulder agreed.

"I've been just checking in with the SFPD criminalists to get an update on what they've processed, to see if they can help close any of the gaps," Montes told them, before ushering them towards security.

"So," Mulder said after they passed the checkpoint and reached a bank of elevators, "are we going to get Scully into some scrubs?"

"That's a question for the ME staff, or maybe the lab supervisor," Montes said, pushing at the button for the fourth floor. "They can tell you where they are in their analyses, and you can see what you want to do, Agent Scully."

"Well I'd like to start by taking a look at the complete autopsy reports, and see if there's a need for me to take a closer look at anything specifically."

"I thought you might, and I took the liberty of having them ready for you." Montes passed a three-ring binder that he'd been carrying under his arm over to her. "May I ask what you're looking for?" he asked, as the elevators dinged open on the fourth floor.

"I'm not really sure, yet," Scully answered, opening it up and flipping through the pages of charts and photos. "But I'm hoping that I'll spot something that the ME might have missed, that could explain the strange nature of the crime scene: one, it was in fact murder-suicide, or two, that one of the victims was able to lock the doors." But when she saw the name of the assistant ME who had worked the case, she pursed her lips slightly. She remembered this guy, and how she had been struck at the time by the thought that he seemed incredibly competent. But then again, she brought with her the experience of looking for things that most MEs wouldn't even consider, and in this case that might prove key.

They were now in an open, airy hallway that had clearly seen a recent renovation, but instead of heading straight into the new and cutting edge lab facilities, they came to a side office that looked like a refuge from the pre-remodel days. After Montes knocked, they found a portly balding man lining up manila bindles on his desk. When he looked up, Scully noticed his sharp, intelligent eyes.

"Agent Mulder and Scully, this is Dave Weinreich, lab supervisor. Dave, Agents Mulder and Scully. They're the ones I mentioned are joining our investigation."

"Have a seat," he said gruffly.

"Dave?" Mulder checked, and when the supervisor nodded, he went on. "We were hoping to get an update on what the forensic side of things is, so that it can give us some direction with our investigation into the Loves and what might have happened to them. And, if possible, we'd like to get Agent Scully—Dr. Scully—into the autopsy bay to compare the ME report with the victims."

"Well, I happen to know that the autopsy bays are booked until 5 and you can usually expect them to go over, especially since they've been backed up as of late. But they did manage to get the Loves and Grant done, at least." The supervisor made it sound like this was a miracle, and knowing how horribly backed-up urban morgues could get, Scully could understand.

Actually, the fact that the post-mortem exams on all three victims were completed was a sign of how seriously San Francisco was taking this case. Typically their big city victims would just sit in the morgue until she availed herself to get the autopsies completed. Even then, she was usually relegated to perform them at some ungodly hour because every other time slot was reserved. But she wondered if it served her that they'd already performed them, since she might have to go through them all anyway.

"So we completed the autopsies, developed the scenes' photos, and processed the kids' fingerprints," Dave said, in the manner of ticking items off a list. "Still waiting back on the DNA, and then we'll enter it in the national database, CODIS. We're also still running fingerprints through AFIS and lastly, we have to process this trace that we found in the secondary, upstairs scene." He lifted up one of the bindles that had been lying on his desk.

"What's in it?" Mulder asked, fascinated.

"Well obviously I can't tell you for sure, since it hasn't been analyzed, but it looked like a composite of mica, and fine gray stone powder—like very finely ground granite, for example. I'll be able to tell you more once we get to it."

Mulder reached across the desk and fingered the bindle, rapt. Scully could see his eyes drilling holes through the beige paper, clearly wishing they could break the seal and tap a bit of it out onto the desk for him to see. . .and possibly taste, knowing him. She hid a smile.

"Do you mind. . . can we put a rush on this stuff here?" he asked, looking up with an eager glint in his eye.

Dave nodded slowly. "I think we can do that. We've flagged other elements of this case and the brass were fine with it, so I'll try to make it happen."

Mulder nodded appreciatively. "Is the crime scene itself finished?"

"Yep, and crime scene cleanup's been in there, too, but I don't think they were able to get those bloodstains out."

Mulder turned in his chair to look at Scully. "You gonna stick around here and check out the report and we can meet up later?"

"Are you heading over to the house?" she asked, meeting his question with one of her own.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. You want to come with?"

She thought it over quickly. If she couldn't compare the autopsy report to the actual bodies. . ."Yeah, I can see how the bloodstains match up with the ME's timeline of injuries."

Mulder nodded quickly and Dave sensed his impatience and reached across with his card, which Mulder and Scully both responded to by giving him theirs.

"So I'll keep you in the loops along with SFPD and Agents Montes and Park, then?"

"Yes, thanks," Scully answered, and Mulder nodded again.

Montes slipped out of the office ahead of them and once they were back in the hall, he dug into his pockets and passed them a key.

"I have to head back to the office and go over the Love's financial and business records, but that's the key to the house. It's 3017 Washington St. between Baker and Broderick—the address is on the tag."

As they rode down in the elevator, they exchanged cards and promised to keep each other informed, and Mulder was polite, but Scully could tell he was eager to get all the briefing and technicalities out of the way and get to the investigation. It had been a relief for her, though, that everyone had been as accommodating as they had been; it could have been a red tape nightmare.

* * *

The house looked manicured and well-maintained from the outside—like it had been the pride of the block. Elegant Victorian architecture, glossy and richly-colored enamel paint, and elaborate stained glass panels hid the nightmare scene within. The only hint was the stretch of yellow tape around the property and across the doorway.

Hitching up her bag, Scully followed her partner up the immaculate wooden stairs to the front door.

He turned Montes's copy of the key, and they were immediately hit by an overwhelming wall of the cheap cleaner scent left by the crime scene cleaning service. It might not have been as offensive, had it not been so powerful as to suggest it was working hard to compensate for another odor. Unfortunately, they knew what that odor was. Despite the thorough efforts by the cleanup crew, numerous dark brown stains were still splashed across the walls and floors of the kitchen. Walls would have to be repainted, linoleum replaced, hardwood floors sanded and refinished.

As she followed Mulder down the hall and into the kitchen, she breathed slowly through her mouth to suppress the urge to gag, then dropped her bag off her shoulder and let it come to rest on the counter with a muffled thud.

"Ugh, it smells like Frohike's bathroom in here," her partner commented, scrunching up his nose.

Scully couldn't believe her ears. "Are you actually giving Frohike credit for using cleaning products, Mulder?" she asked, then turned to pull the autopsy report from her bag.

"Hell no, that place needs to be quarantined. . ." Mulder shot back. "I'm talking about the cheap-ass cologne he stashes in there for when you might drop by." He gave her a teasing grin before making another face at the overwhelming smell.

"So I'm going to follow the chain of events in the blood stains, starting in the southeast corner," Scully told him after a moment, as if ignoring him. But then at the last moment she turned back to him and added, "And I seem to remember a certain someone sporting some cologne as well the other night. . ."

"Who me?" he asked, opening and closing the kitchen cupboards. "That's all natural, baby!"

Scully tossed him a look, but the effect was ruined when the right corner of her mouth twitched up.

After a moment she turned back to the autopsy report, forcing herself to focus. Since they had starting sleeping together, they had been very disciplined at separating their work and personal lives. But just as their job crossed over into their private lives, so too did their new relationship flavor the time they spent together investigating cases. Their dynamic had permanently changed, and that affected everything. So even though they maintained a distance at work, sometimes it could be hard to focus, especially when she got flashbacks of the nights they spent together. . .

Now was one of those times. She took a deep breath and forced it slowly out again, and this time she managed to become more engrossed in the report. While Mulder went upstairs to check out the playroom, she read the extensive reports carefully, but the more she read, the more her heart sank. So far, it looked as if the SFPD criminalists were right in their conclusions. Once she finished going over the reports, she picked up the binder and began walking through the kitchen scene, stopping at each spot a victim had died and comparing the report with what she saw. After that, she became even more convinced that not one of the victims could have re-latched the lock.

Among Sarah Grant's extensive injuries, both her calves were slashed through the gastrocnemius (calf) muscle to the bone, so she wouldn't have been able to walk to the lock to close it. And at her height, she wouldn't have been tall enough to reach the chain lock from her knees, had she crawled. Hers were the only fingerprints on that lock, and Scully guessed that the family never used it. She could rule out the others, too, even if one imagined they had closed the lock through their shirts or some other material that could conceal prints. . . Mr. Love's arterial spray and blood pooling in the east end of the kitchen indicated he died immediately, and the blood pools on the stairs showed that Mrs. Love received her mortal wounds there. There was no trailing or dripping from those pools that indicated she went back to the door. And the idea that she then returned to the exact position she was in when she received those wounds was pretty ludicrous anyway.

As for murder-suicide, Scully could rule out the three of them, as well.

She tossed the report down and pulled out her phone with a sigh, which was apparently louder than she intended, because Mulder popped his head in from another room.

"Who're you calling?" he asked when he saw her phone out.

She clicked off the phone to share her thought process.

"The FSD investigators were right, Mulder," she admitted to him. "I have to concur with their findings: there's no way any of these victims could have locked the door behind their attacker or that this was a murder-suicide." She shook her head, and Mulder gave her an encouraging nod, clearly thrilled that she was about to validate it as a proper X-File.

She explained what the physical evidence showed her regarding the lock, and he listened carefully, then asked, "And murder-suicide?"

"Yes. As for murder-suicide, all of them are ruled out, as well. It couldn't have been Mr. Love because as you can see, there is a void here," she indicated across the hardwood floor, "in his arterial spray. This is where Sarah Grant was standing up—therefore alive—at the time. We can tell by looking at her body and seeing where the spray landed. But she's too far away to have been able to reach him to make the wound herself."

"And you should know after countless late night movies that the babysitter's never the killer, always the victim," Mulder interjected deadpan, but with a glint of humor in his eyes.

"You're the one who watches late-night slasher flicks Mulder, not me," she said, allowing him to distract her temporarily.

"I recall having your company during a couple of those," he rejoined. "But fair enough, we weren't really watching. . ."

"Anyway," Scully went on with a warning look, "that then only leaves Mrs. Love as the person who could have killed them, and then committed suicide. But her wounds immediately rule her death out as suicide. She was repeatedly stabbed from behind at angles that could not have been self-inflicted. And of course, we have the problem of the murder weapon. . .in that we have none."

"So then, who were you calling?"

"Montes. The only other explanation I can think of, is that somewhere in this house is a crawl space or wiring channel where the killer could have stayed hidden while the SFPD processed the house."

"And the kids?"

"Maybe the SFPD has said this, but I know we've been avoiding it. . .Mulder, what if the kids themselves did this?"

Mulder shook his head. "No, this doesn't look like parricide to me. Maybe if they were a bit older and were physically capable of overcoming three adults. . . or if it were a gun rather than this rage-fueled knife attack. . .but still, it's rare to see in their ages."

Scully crossed her arms, nodding. Mulder tended to be right about these things, but even so, she could usually find some foothold on which to base an explanation. In this case, all the footholds she sought out just crumbled when she put any weight on them.

"Besides," Mulder added, "what about the upstairs room that was locked from within?"

"The two older children could have combined their strength to pull the door inward, and the bureau tilted forward onto its two front legs long enough for them all to squeeze through. And then when they let go, the dresser fell back onto its four legs and pushed the door shut all but two inches."

"I didn't see indentations or marks of any kind on the door that indicated that."

"That doesn't rule it out, though," Scully insisted, not willing to give up on that theory, and suddenly, a new one branched out from it in her mind. "Mulder. . .what if once they got out of the room, they came upon the scene—"

"And avoided stepping in any blood?" Mulder said skeptically.

"Possibly. And something lead them to believe the killer was coming back, so they locked the door and found a place to hide."

"Without leaving any prints on the lock, though? Or smudging Sarah's fresh prints? And of course, this is all contingent on whether or not there _is_ a viable hiding space in here."

"I know, which is why I'm calling Montes to see if they have blue prints or architectural records for the house."

"That won't help us," Mulder said at once.

"Why!" Scully demanded, irked with his self-assured tone.

"This house was built pre-1905. There aren't any architectural plans on it. Only water records, which won't do us much good."

Scully wanted him to explain he knew such an arcane fact, but it happened so frequently that she decided not to bother. He would just shrug, anyway. Still, she was reluctant, and Mulder noticed.

"Go ahead and call him if you don't believe me," Mulder said in a teasing voice.

She paused, with her finger on the button and Mulder watching her, but then huffed in frustration and closed her phone. "Well then, you know what that means. . ." she reached into her bag and he raised his eyebrows, and then she whipped out her flashlight. "We'll start at the top."

"They searched all these rooms thoroughly before they cleared the house, Scully. Closets and all."

"Right," she acknowledged. "But there's still a possibility they missed something. They were more interested in clearing the scene than going over it with a fine-toothed comb to look for a hiding place."

"They also brought in dogs to try and trace the kids," he continued. "They couldn't find anything."

"Well this is their house—their scent is everywhere," she rejoined. "If the crawl space is concealed enough, it might have been difficult for their scent to penetrate to the dogs. . ."

Mulder was obviously dubious, but he reached into his pocket and withdrew his flashlight as well. "From the top?" he asked, and Scully nodded decisively.


	4. Part 3

**Warning: Below the break it becomes rather M-rated. If you'd like to skip you can just go forward to Part 4.**

Scully led the way up the stairs to the second floor, then bypassed the secondary crime scene and headed up a smaller set of stairs to the top level. There, she and Mulder separated, and roved their flashlights over the bare wood-frame walls of the attic. She was disappointed to see that there seemed to be no storage areas or nooks on this floor, though. They could clearly follow along the perimeter of the house's frame from within, and it was evident that this level, at least, would have yielded no place for anyone to hide.

"I love old places like this," Mulder suddenly commented, as he passed his flashlight over the inside of a small, high panel of stained glass. Scully turned to him, surprised at this profession, but said nothing.

"You know, with unfinished attics. . ." He looked over at her. "One of our houses was like that as a kid. Samantha and I would spend hours up in that attic, even when it was sweltering in the summer." He paused for a moment as he shined his light over the far corner, then continued: "It didn't matter to us. Our dad didn't build us a tree house like the other neighborhood dads did, so that was our kingdom." He made a nostalgic noise.

Scully tried to imagine a carefree pre-trauma Mulder—no, Fox—and smiled slightly despite the bittersweet picture it made.

"Dad hated us messing up there though," Mulder went on, now sounding ponderous. "And now I wonder what sort of documents and evidence I had at my fingertips then, without realizing. . ."

Lately, Mulder had been much more open with her about things like this. Scully often wondered if it was because of the closure he had found with Samantha, or because they had finally crossed the last barrier in their relationship. She doubted that it was really exclusively one or the other, though—the former seemed to have been a catalyst of sorts for the latter.

"We didn't have one," Scully answered. "Just a crawl space for storage. We did have a basement, but it was sort of creepy. . ."

"But I bet _you_ had a tree house, didn't you?"

She gave him a quick smile and he nodded triumphantly. "I knew it."

After a moment of silence where they rather pointlessly cast their flashlights around the attic, Scully sighed. "I don't see anything here," she admitted, and he nodded.

They trooped down to the second floor, and without a word, decided mutually to split ways. Scully went to the front, while Mulder headed to the back towards the bedrooms.

She pushed open the door to the secondary crime scene, but unlike the kitchen downstairs, it was not at all clear that anything had taken place here aside from some furniture in disarray. The crime scene cleanup crew had managed to wipe up all the blood here, and she saw no sign of that ground mica trace—probably to Mulder's chagrin, she thought.

She turned her flashlight towards the interior of the door, and saw that Mulder was right. There were no scuff marks or indentations from the legs of the bureau. She wasn't quite resigned to dismissing that theory that the kids had locked the door behind the killer and had then hidden, and that would have meant that the potential hiding space was outside the playroom, but she didn't want to leave any stones unturned.

Methodically, she moved through the room, lifting up area rugs, tapping on all the interior walls, and testing the panels in the closet. While in there, she looked up, hoping to see some sort of hatch at the top, but there was nothing but solid ceiling. She moved onto the next room, the daughter's bedroom, but after forty more minutes, she concluded that there was nothing to be found there either, and she headed into the hallway. Mulder had just appeared there as well, with tousled hair that once again immediately made her mind shift away from the investigation. But purposefully, she redirected her thoughts back to the task at hand.

"Anything?" she asked, but he shook his head, and they took the main stairs down to the ground floor. Mulder headed into the front room and Scully went back to the bloody kitchen.

There, Scully ignored the stains she had so attentively studied for the past few hours, and focused on the interior walls of the kitchen. The grouping of closets on the southwest side caught her eye, and she strode over. The door to the kitchen closet hung ajar, and she knew without a doubt that the SFPD had cleared it, but what if there was more to it than met the eye? She turned and sidled into the narrow space with one arm above her head, and carefully traced her flashlight along all the seams of the wall. Then she reached up onto her tiptoes and tapped the side of it along the walls as well, listening for a hollow spot. Unfortunately the ceiling was obviously smooth painted plaster, and the walls moved seamlessly from it, and her knocks on them returned solid thuds. Not finished, she bent sideways awkwardly and looked at the joint of the walls and floor, but again there was nothing out of the ordinary. She straightened up again and edged back out, listening for Mulder in the other room, but all she heard was him rustling around. So apparently he'd found nothing in the dining room or living room either so far. . .

She turned to the laundry and utility room that was to be her last hope before she'd have to confess that she didn't have a clue as to how children could vanish from a locked room, or adults could be murdered within a locked house. Even if this _were_ another case of Starlight, how did the killer escape as well?

She surveyed the cramped room that was lined from shoulder-height to ceiling in shelving, and had a washer and dryer taking over most of the remaining wall space. She narrowed her eyes in frustration, knowing that even if there were a crawl space behind the appliances, the kids could have never pulled them away from the wall themselves, let alone pulled them back behind them. In one last bid, she cast her flashlight around the whole room, hoping to find some sign—_any_ sign—of how the kids and killer might have gotten away. Then suddenly, her breath caught in her throat as something on the ceiling caught her eye.

Almost hidden by the protruding storage shelves was a small 2x2' trap door in the ceiling above the washing machine. The area was framed with wood, while the rest of the ceiling was flat plaster. She would never have noticed it had she not been looking specifically for it, and been using a flashlight, but there it was. She paused to reach into her back pocket and pulled on some latex gloves, then spotted a stepladder in the corner and opened it up next to the large appliances. She suspected the kids and/or killer could have stood on the washing machine to reach the hatch, and she didn't want to disturb any evidence. Carefully she leaned forward and got ready to press up along then edge of the door, when—

"Scully!" Mulder said excitedly in the doorway. She looked down on him and saw that he was holding up a pair of magazines, but also looking quizzically at her. Confused, she stared at him for a second, but when he took note of what she was doing, he shook his head to dismiss what he was going to say and set the magazines down.

"Well, look what _you_ found," he observed, and she nodded, then braced against her fingertips and pushed upwards with her heart pounding. At first the wood seemed reluctant to give, but then, slowly, the panel lifted a few inches. With one last glance down at Mulder, who nodded her on, she gave a strong thrust and the door burst open.

She had half-expected to see the frightened, strained faces of the children waiting in the space beyond, but instead she was met with a torrential cloud of dust that exploded down on her and filled the small room.

Overcome by choking, Scully made a hasty retreat down from the stepladder, covering her face, and followed Mulder out into the kitchen, where they both tried to stop coughing.

When they had finally caught their breath, Mulder looked at her expectantly. "So," he said after a moment, "now that you've found the crawl space, do you still think it plays any role in the case?"

"I think we need to contact SFPD and have the Forensic Service Department process the area," she answered, while still trying to get the dust off of her, but without much luck.

Mulder looked slightly incredulous. "Come on, Scully, look at this stuff!" he said, indicating between them and at the air around them, which was still full of particles. "That crawl space hasn't been accessed in twenty years—if that. If it had been, this dust would have been all over the crime scene, and it wasn't."

She didn't have an answer for that, but didn't want to give up the discovery. It was the only thing that could make sense. "It doesn't hurt to just have the police process it," she insisted. "See if there are any fingerprints. . .blood. . .it might give us _some_ indication that these kids are still alive. I'd like a sign of that."

"And so would I," Mulder concurred, "but I think that its presence is pure coincidence, and has nothing to do with this case."

Scully pursed her lips, knowing that even though he had ulterior motives in saying that because he wanted this to be an X-File, the physical evidence (all the _dust_) looked like it corresponded with his assessment.

Mulder reached forward and caught her hand, and she looked into his eyes. "But it's not as if we have _no_ leads, Scully. . ." he said significantly, and she could hear the enthusiasm returning to his voice.

"What did you find?" she asked, and he let go of her to jog back into the laundry room, where he grabbed the magazines he had set down.

"These," he said, holding them up, and Scully immediately recognized them as well-known science journals. In fact, she was a subscriber to both.

_"Science_ and _Physical Letters Review_. What about them?"

Seeing her puzzled expression, he chuckled slightly, and strode up to her. "Check it out," he told her, showing her the cover of Science. "We haven't been formally introduced and the pictures we've seen of him haven't been the most flattering, but can you recognize this guy?"

Now she saw it. She couldn't tell at first since his smiling blue eyes were open and his face wasn't pale and covered in dried blood. "Geoff Love," she said.

"Montes mentioned that he's back at the FBI looking over his business records," Mulder said, nodding. "And I think that we should take a look at those as well."

"Why, what does he do?"

"According to _Physical Letters Review_, he's a cutting-edge physicist who's on the eve of some major breakthrough."

"Let me take a closer look at that," Scully offered.

"Go for it, Ms. 'Einstein's Twin Paradox,'" he said, handing her the journal.

She tried to stay up-to-date on all the peer-reviewed science journals, but with her work and the recent development of a personal life, she rarely found time anymore. It would be fascinating to read through some of the latest advancements in what was once her field. She opened it up and glanced at the abstract, but could quickly tell that she'd need to sit down and concentrate on it.

"And according to _Science_?" she asked, after she'd placed the other in her bag.

"Well, it's more of a general biography, but in it, they briefly mention that his apparent rival, Hans Zydek, is suing him. I'd like to get my hands on his records and learn more about the suit. . .and what exactly he was doing that was so cutting edge."

"Which is where I come in," Scully noted.

"Exactly. I tried reading that first article for a few minutes, and suffice it to say that I'm surprised that I even managed to get from it that he's a _physicist_."

Scully chuckled and reached across to wipe a smudge of cloying dust from his cheek. "You have other talents, though," Scully said teasingly, and he grinned suggestively, then reached up to take her hand, and obviously looked her up and down.

"You're pretty dirty," he said a moment later, and at that Scully couldn't help but stare at him with her mouth slightly open and her heart starting to pound. Even though they'd been physically involved, he had never talked like that, let alone in the middle of a crime scene.

But at her expression, he gave an appreciative laugh, and then indicated at himself. "And so am I," he added, and she saw that he meant literally. The thick coating of fine dust still clung to their every surface, despite their repeated attempts at brushing it off.

Scully could feel a blush creep up her cheek, and she tried to hide it by leaning over to pick up her bag, but he squeezed her hand. "But there are lots of kinds of dirty," he said in an entirely different tone, and to her irritation yet thrill, Scully could feel her body immediately starting to respond to him. It was shocking to her, but these days, it just took a change in his voice. . .

"All of which call for a shower," he went on, and the dark glint in his eyes spoke to the doubled layers of meaning there.

"Yeah, ahmmm. . ." Scully swallowed, her heart suddenly in her throat. . ."well we're done here, and I don't think it would be very professional to turn up at the FBI looking like this."

"No, especially since we're already testing Agent Park's hospitality as it is," Mulder noted.

"And I should probably get out of these clothes, too. . ." Scully continued, with two sides of her simultaneously disapproving and exulting in her decision to indulge mid-day.

"Yeah, you probably should," Mulder concurred, tilted his head and looking down at her. All Scully could do was stare at his lower lip, and she unconsciously licked her own. At that, his eyes dilated and he gave her hand one last squeeze before rapidly moving around the room and gathering everything he needed. Then without another word, they strode out of the house, locked up behind them, and headed to the car.

* * *

Once they reached their usual motel, Scully left Mulder to check in while she called Montes and the lab supervisor, Dave, to bring them all into the loop, and get the criminalists over to the scene to process the crawl space. Once she had hung up, she made her way over to Mulder, who held up one of the keycards and inclined his head to his right. She turned with him and they fell in step. He caught her hand and swept his thumb back and forth across it, and their silence spoke volumes, but Scully's heart was pounding wildly in her chest.

Even though it had been over a month since they had finally broken down the last walls between them and gone 'all in,' Scully was still caught up in the newness of it all. After all, one month after seven years of status quo was a mere drop of time, and so it was still an exhilarating and adrenaline-inducing jolt every time they went into this unfamiliar territory. They had been partners for so long, but they were now starting from scratch in so many ways, and she was learning who he was as a totally different person: a sexual one. For so long, they interacted on a purely intellectual level, but now their communication had also become physical, and so she experienced him with all five senses, which was amazing, but also somewhat overwhelming.

Yet despite the momentous shift in their relationship, what was even _more_ incredible was how much their partnership _hadn't_ changed. . . She was in awe at how she could see more clearly into the core of him than ever before, yet it was just a magnified, more penetrating look at the person she had loved for so long. He was an open, immediate, fully tactile, urgent, and intimate version of Mulder, but he was _still_ Mulder.

She had to admit, though, this Mulder had the capability to turn her on in a way the Mulder she'd known for the first seven years had only _hinted_ at.

After he swiped the keycard, he pulled her into the room by their joined hands and had her up against the back of the door before it was even properly closed. Braced between his arms, with his body pressed against her, she wrapped her free hand behind his neck and drew him down to her. They looked into each other's eyes for a long, heated moment before Mulder softly uttered "Scully," and leaned down to capture her lips.

His mouth crushed against hers and she moaned and leaned forward on her toes to respond with her own enthusiasm. She loved how he kissed her, and it had become an intoxicating addiction. Just as he approached everything else in his life, he was thorough, intense, and creative; he was bold and decisive, but not controlling, and he welcomed her input. She was more than ready to give it to him, and after several minutes she broke the kiss for a moment to give him a slight push back and yank off her coat and suit jacket. Immediately, he followed her example and hastily pulled off his tie as well, then went straight for her blouse buttons, nimbly going down the row until he reached halfway down, at which point she got impatient and pulled the rest over her head as he got a start on his own shirt. They were both breathing heavily and Scully could feel a slight sweat starting around her hairline. She saw it on Mulder's forehead too, making tiny rivulets in the dark dust that had settled there, and she remembered that they were supposed to be multi-tasking.

"Mul—" she started, but his mouth was already on hers again, urging her lips open. After only a split second of trying to stay focused, she forgot about mentioning the shower; she couldn't possibly think coherently as one of his hands was at her throat, stroking slow circles at the hollow there, the other hand was slipping into her bra to coax a nipple into hardness, and his tongue was delving into her mouth and caressing hers with a rhythm that foretold of things to come. She made a high, soft vocalized sigh that she hadn't heard herself make for many years prior to last month, but now both she and Mulder were getting pretty familiar with this secret sound, and it seemed to only excite him further. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss, and his hand left her breast to pull her tightly against him. Suddenly she felt her bra straps slip off her shoulders—he had expertly unfastened the clasp. He broke their kiss and leaned back, then hooked an index finger over the center strip of material in the front, and with one tug, her bra slid off her arms. As soon as it lay on the floor with their other discarded clothes, his eyes moved hungrily over her chest, and she took the time to do the same. After seven years of having to hide her glances, or needing to be in 'doctor mode' when she could actually look, it was unbelievably erotic to just look at him. It was even more unbelievably erotic to be looked at, and Scully could feel a hot glow spread across her body. She almost physically sensed the touch of where his eyes traveled—like little jolts of electricity across her skin. She wasn't the only one affected: Mulder's mouth was partially open, his eyes were dark, his chest was rising and falling rapidly. . .and drops of sweat were beading up in the slick dust along his unkempt hair.

_Shower_, she thought, though more out of lust than responsibility, and she darted past him suddenly. He turned around and reached for her arm, but she slipped out of his way, and sped to the bathroom, where she tossed him a mischievous, inviting smile over her shoulder, and got to work getting out of her trousers, and toeing off her heels. He was by her side in an instant and shut the door behind him, then offered her a hand as she stepped out of her underwear. Mulder then reached across her to turn on the tap and made sure the water was getting hot. . .meanwhile Scully was working to do the same with Mulder. She sat on the edge of the tub and yanked off his belt, then unfastened his pants and tugged them down his legs, all under five seconds. He looked down at her with a mix of wonder and arousal, and she responded with a small smirk. Normally, she enjoyed drawing out the anticipation, but unfortunately they didn't have the time for that now. They'd have to get back to work sooner or later. . .though in this case it looked to be a bit later. The only piece of cloth that remained between them was his boxers, and now Scully couldn't help but now take a little time to trace, then squeeze, the hard outline there. His eyes fluttered shut and his hips bucked against her hand, and she slid the tips of her fingers under the band and pulled them down over his thighs. He didn't wait for them to reach his ankles; he stepped right out of them and into the hot stream of water that was beginning to steam up the room, then grabbed her wrists and pulled her in with him.

The water began to cover her in its liquid heat, but it almost felt cool against her already-flushed skin. It quickly enveloped her, though, and she soon felt like she and Mulder were lost in their own wet, hot world. He reached for the motel's shampoo/shower gel bottle from off the side of the ledge and squeezed out a generous dollop, which he lathered into foam for a few seconds before cupping her breasts and moving the palm of his hand with deliberate care over their centers. All the while, he stared intensely into her eyes, watching her responses carefully. The steamy air was suddenly filled with the scent of lavender, and Scully's knees felt weak from the silky, slippery sensations. For a moment she just closed her eyes to take in the sensation of Mulder's movements, but it wasn't long before she had to get her hands on him as well. She helped herself to some of the gel as well, and reached up to run her fingers through his hair, using her fingertips to work it into a thick lather, which she then used to glide her fingernails down his neck and over his chest. At that, they made eye contact once again, and she reached up while he bent down, to come together in a crushing, hot, wet kiss. Their bodies slid smoothly against each other, lubricated by the frothy lavender gel, and his arms wrapped around her to pin her tightly to him. Pressed together as they were, her nipples grazed sensually across his slick skin, and sent bolts directly down below. Today, she couldn't wait long to have him inside her, but she would have to get the actual washing out of the way first. . .

She pulled from the kiss and turned smoothly in his arms so that her back was nestled against the front of his body, and she lifted her arms to work the shampoo into her own hair. He immediately covered her hands with one of his, and made slow, massaging circles against her scalp. Sighing huskily, she leaned her head back against his chest, and he dipped his head to attach his lips to the juncture of her throat and shoulder. That part of her body had always been one of the most sensitive, and as he sucked and kissed her there, she felt the sudden need to reciprocate. She reached behind her and in between them, and found the hard flesh that had been pressing insistently into her lower back. She heard a sudden intake of air from him, and his mouth worked even more fervently at her shoulder—there would definitely be a bruise left there, but fortunately it could be concealed by normal clothing. After a few early incidents that had resulted in turtlenecks for days, they knew to be more discrete. The soapy foam on her hands didn't allow her to get a firm grasp on him easily, but the combination of pressure and slipperiness seemed to be working, because he was growing in her palm, and now his hand was tracing a thick rivulet of water from her waist where he had held her, down her belly. With one hand in her wet hair, and one in her curls below, he made the same movements: slow, firm circular strokes. After several seconds she felt like she was practically boneless, where as he seemed to just get harder and tenser. She leaned against him for support, and tilted her head back against his shoulder. In an instant, he ducked down to urge her mouth open with his, and show her with his tongue what he meant to do to her in several minutes time. It slid maddeningly slowly past her lips, and stroked every surface of the inside of her mouth, before getting bolder and pressing forward dominantly; it then coaxed hers out into his mouth, where he cradled and tangled with it. He had used his talented, lithe tongue on her in more locations than her mouth, but no matter what he did with it, it was highly arousing, and she felt faint and giddy, and overcome by her five senses. She had always suspected that his oral fixation might translate into phenomenal bedroom skills, but the reality was a thousand times more incredible than even her most illicit fantasies.

He suddenly released her lips and she immediately missed them, but when he turned his head to nuzzle at her ear and huskily murmur her name, it somehow elicited even more of a physical response in her than his tongue, and she turned back to face him and push him back under the shower spray. There, as the suds came sloughing off of them in hot cascades, Mulder braced his left foot against the base of the outer rim of the bathtub, then reached behind Scully's left leg and lifted her until he could get his other knee under her and prop his foot on top of the tub's interior ledge. Scully rarely liked being reminded of her femininity in the workplace, but in her sex life, it flooded her with excitement to be handled like this, and her heart hammered in her chest and rang in her ears. Then, with unwavering eye contact of his dark green eyes that seemed to pierce into her soul, he scooped up her other leg with his left arm and pushed his hips forward to penetrate her in one swift movement. Pinned between the tiled wall and Mulder, there was nothing she could do except wrap her arms around his shoulders and hold on, as he drew back slightly, got better purchase on her right thigh and lifted it up more to plunge even deeper

He was still watching her face closely, as he moved against her in slow but purposeful strokes, and she wanted to keep that link open, and get lost in those dark pupils, but her eyes kept trying to flicker closed and give her over to the feeling of tension that was beginning to tauten with every one of Mulder's thrusts. Instead, she leaned her head forward and touched her wet forehead to his in an unspoken but familiar assertion of her feelings for him. But just as her eyes shut, her mouth dropped open in a loud, surprised exhale than ended in his name, when he slightly changed angles and hit her at an incredibly sweet spot. In tune with her as always, he responded by bucking even harder against her at the same position, and her eyes shot open and she needed him to kiss her immediately. He was only too happy to oblige, and responded even further by inserting his right hand between them and pressing his thumb down in tight circles just above where they were joined.

These were the moments that flashed back to her during the workday and set her heart racing even when she was doing the most mundane activity: when they were moving as one, pressed together so tightly that she had no idea where one ended and the other began, when she could feel his heart beating right up against hers, and their minds seemed to flow together in a way that they had never quite managed in all their years as partners. . .and that was saying a lot. But all those years had certainly been good preparation—and killer foreplay—because from the very first time they had slept together, he had seemed to know instinctively what she wanted or needed, what she liked, and what she was feeling at any given moment. It was almost as if he were inside her mind, feeling what she felt, and acting accordingly. Besides the incredible physical gratification it brought, it was an unbelievable rush to have him so profoundly connected to her on every level. She'd had amazing sex with other lovers before, and she and Mulder had shared an extraordinary intellectual and emotional bond for years, but the combination of the two was intoxicatingly potent and life-altering.

When they had discussed it one late night, their bodies entwined in the dark of her apartment, he had told her that he was experiencing the same thing, and was much, much better at sex with her than he'd ever been in his life. And then he'd told her how much he loved her, in earnest, frank words. She had finally shared the entire truth of her emotions for him as well, and afterwards, they reiterated their words through action. For the first time in her life, she had known complete, absolute happiness, and they skipped work the next day to prevent the realities of the outside world from touching them, for just a little bit longer.

Since then, they had taken even greater steps in their relationship, and had told each other how they felt face to face, in the light of day. She still found it slightly scary to make herself so vulnerable, but that also made it exhilarating as well, and it acted as a profound aphrodisiac. For that reason, with one initial exception, they'd never gone there during their work. It was too new, too private, and too potent to be used any time but their personal time, which they guarded passionately.

Now in this closed, steaming, wet, hot space, time was short but entirely their own, and Mulder was still thrusting into her unrelentingly, though with an increasingly erratic rhythm. In the humidity of the shower, he was losing a grip on her right leg and she wrapped both legs around his back, drawing him even deeper in and setting her nerve endings into overload. Starting to pant in earnest, she looked down, watching him pull in and out of her while his muscles flexed and rippled. Then she tipped her head back up towards his face, where she found her lifeline in Mulder's intense, searching gaze. She wanted to exist in this moment forever, drowning in those wide dark pupils that watched her with such lust and passion, but she was also so, so close.

"Love—love you," she gasped, and she lifted one arm from his neck to touch his face tenderly, then pushed her fingers through his wet hair. He closed his eyes appreciatively at her touch, and then dropped his forehead against hers again while giving a sudden, throaty moan. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck once more and sought out his lips, while tilting her hips and squeezing him tightly below as well. At that he let out another low, urgent noise into her mouth, then broke the kiss for a brief moment to punctuate it with her name and a give her a meaningful, reverential look. She was a fluent interpreter of every one of Mulder's nuanced expression, and understood his meaning clearly, but when he murmured huskily, "Love you—" he paused to give a short grunt "—so much," it was somehow even more arousing. . .She had seen that look for years, but only recently had he openly vocalized it to her.

She was gasping heavily now, and with each thrust a small, breathless cry escaped her lips reflexively. Mulder seemed to be close as well. He caught his breath just long enough to lean forward into her neck and mutter in her ear, "Come for me, Scully," lust making his voice rough. He followed this up by increasing the pressure of his thumb on her, and speeding up the movements and force of his hips, so that the back of her head bumped against the tile with every thrust. The combination of his voice and his actions had an immediate, major effect, and the sensations she felt where they came together seemed to surge to unbelievable heights, but still didn't break. Instead they expanded to her whole body, and became her entire world: all she could sense, all she could feel was him, all around her. With all five senses he was in her, surrounding her, and the growing tension was the sweetest agony imaginable. She was practically hyperventilating from the overwhelming pleasure of it, and though hers seemed to build and build without shattering, Mulder suddenly convulsed and slammed her violently against the shower wall once more, calling out some garbled version of her name before collapsing forward on her heavily. Still, he continued the insistent, stroking movement of his thumb on her, and watched her from where he rested his cheek against the tiles.

"Scully, come for me," he urged her again, his face flushed and his breathing heavy, and he ground his hips into her one last time.

This seemed to be the final straw, and Scully both saw and felt sparks as a tremendous climax shattered all around her. She felt it in every part of her, from deep within, to her tingling skin. Gulping in air, she struggled to open her eyes as wave after wave of unbelievable pleasure exploded over her, and she turned her head to look into Mulder's face. There she found a look of intense love and passion, which seemed to only prolong the overwhelming sensations, and he held onto her tightly, never breaking eye contact, as she trembled from the various aftershocks. After those several moments that seemed to stretch on and on, she finally slipped her legs from around his waist and slid down to sit on the inner ledge weakly. He reached over for the taps in a daze to finally shut off the water, which was starting to become tepid, and then sank into the tub and pulled her onto him, where their hearts pounded rapidly in unison.

She nestled into him and sprinkled kissed over his chest, and he wrapped her in his arms and squeezed tightly. She could feel his eyes on her then, and she looked up to see him regarding her seriously. He leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips, then pushed her damp hair tenderly from her face.

She loved him—she couldn't imagine what she would do if anything ever happened to him. Maybe that's why they'd held out for so long, she often thought. Because it had already been excruciating when they were separated, so how would it be now that they were truly two halves of one whole, if rent apart? Could she survive as only a half?

She tried to flush the disturbing thought from her mind, and focus on the solid, warm, wet feeling of his body pressed against hers here and now, but this anxiety always intruded on any moment of absolute contentment and peace with him. And Scully knew Mulder felt it, too, through the countless little protective actions she saw on a daily basis.

But so far, this nagging but persistent fear was only one drawback, compared to the millions of other joys that came from their new intimate relationship. If she could make the choice again, she would, enthusiastically. And she knew Mulder had no regrets despite their increased concerns, either—except maybe that they had only started after seven years, and not sooner. . .

Scully felt sated and heavy, and she could tell Mulder felt the same and was on the edge dozing, but they had a job to do. They were clean now, so the excuses and justifications had run their course. Very, very reluctantly, she grasped the edge of the tub and hoisted herself up, breaking out of Mulder's arms. She looked behind her and saw that his eyes were now open, but he was wearing a drowsy, petulant expression. She smiled to herself, thinking that before last month, he wouldn't be caught dead lying in a bathtub during business hours when there was an ongoing X-File case with viable leads. But she was betting not that much had actually changed. . .

"A potential mad scientist was murdered in a locked room and his kids have vanished under equally mysterious circumstances," she reminded him, as she stepped out of the tub, and like a charm, he grinned concedingly and climbed to his feet in seconds, reaching for a towel.


	5. Part 4

On the drive from the motel back to the office, Mulder kept looking over and meeting her eye, then grinning, and Scully glanced away quickly, but couldn't help smiling out the window, too. It was nice to spend the afterglow in each other's arms, but a hurried tryst certainly added a spark to the day—especially such a dreary gray one. They had only indulged themselves like that once before, but that had been even worse because it had occurred in the _office_. It had been at the very beginning, before they realized how essential it was to really separate work and their private life. It _had_ been incredibly exciting though, and in the intervening weeks she hadn't looked at that side shelf in quite the same way. . .

As they rode up the Federal Building's elevator with several other people, Mulder continued to look straight ahead, but reached across and laced his fingers through Scully's, just to maintain a thread of that physical contact. Even the smallest gesture gave Scully a flush of pleasure, and she smiled at the back of the woman in front of her. As soon as the doors parted though, he gave them a squeeze and then dropped her hand. She missed him immediately, but knew the protocol. Back to work now; back to being just partners.

But she _was_ looking forward to catching up on the cutting edge discoveries in a field she had once spent so much time studying, and maybe she would even get an opportunity to talk to one of these pioneering scientists. It made a nice change to conduct the scientific element of the investigation sans bloody scrubs and latex gloves, and hoped that she had escaped autopsy detail for this case. Plus, she admitted to herself, she appreciated that they were able to stay in each other's company longer this afternoon. Though she was reluctant to acknowledge it, she would have missed him if she'd been off on her own in an autopsy bay.

The elevator doors chimed open, and this time when they arrived at the reception on the thirteenth floor and introduced themselves, the person at the front desk handed them a pair of building passes. He explained that Agent Park had arranged them, and that she asked that they find the other agents in Meeting Room C. Exchanging a glance, the two of them let themselves in through the inner door and quickly found the side room, where boxes upon boxes of records and files were piled up in stacks in the corners, and in rows on the long table.

They found Montes and two agents they didn't know poring over the paperwork, with cups of coffee in various stages of fullness, water bottles, and chip and energy bar wrappers strewn all over the place. But what really caught Scully's attention were the fresh boxes of pizza, and she suddenly realized that she was absolutely ravenous.

Montes looked up from a thick stack of white paper, and raised a hand, looking bleary-eyed. "The FSD guys are just getting to the house now," he told them, then took a long draw of coffee. He looked exhausted and Scully knew that he'd been up since before them even, and they had been on the East Coast. Once again, she was grateful that she'd managed to catch some sleep on the plane. But that had also been the last time she'd eaten, and her mouth was beginning to water and the savory aroma.

"Did we manage to get ahold of the files regarding the suit against Geoff Love?" Mulder asked, taking a seat at the table.

"Jamie just brought it over," Montes answered, pointing a thumb at a young guy sorting through a box on the other end of the table. "We got access to them just before the courts closed."

The agent named Jamie nodded. "It's all here, Agent Mulder, if you want to go through it." He sounded eager, like he was just praying Mulder could relieve him from his dull, tedious work.

"So, I meant to ask Agent Scully on the phone: how did you find out about the lawsuit?" Montes said, stretching back in his chair. "Agent O'Brien—" he gestured to the older, gray-haired agent in the room "—just came across it this afternoon by talking to some colleagues about his various professional relationships, but you were just at the house, right?"

Mulder nodded and Scully told them, "Agent Mulder found a couple of articles in the home, which mentioned the suit." She pulled out the two journals and held them up, then tossed them on the table and took a seat next to her partner.

"I thought they might give insight into the victim and hopefully inform our investigation somewhat—"

"Which they did," Montes answered. "And now, interestingly, we can't track down the plaintiff, Hans Zydek. We've had agents to his home and place of business in Silicon Valley, Zydeknologie, and he's in neither place, nor is he answering his phones."

"Huh," Mulder said, nodding thoughtfully. "Yeah, we'll definitely want to talk to him. But what I'd like to know—and I know Agent Scully would, too—is, what is the actual _technology_ at the heart of the suit? What is its purpose, and what can it do?"

"Well, you could interview some of the people on our contact list that worked on it, see if they can explain it in layman's terms," Montes suggested, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small notepad. "We've talk to an Eli Williams, a Jessica Chang, and a Larry Mitfuhlend, all from the victim Geoff Love's company. . .though you may have to wait to talk to them until business hours tomorrow."

"Not a problem, because I was actually thinking about someone a little closer to home. . . Agent Scully is a forensic pathologist and medical doctor with a background in quantam physics." All the eyes in the room turned to her.

"Though if need be, I'd definitely like to take you up on that contact list," Scully added, thinking that she might need a few gaps filled in her rusty knowledge. Though she liked to stay on top of the latest developments in physics, the truth was that she had never been an advanced student in that branch of science, and she had definitely struggled with the more obscure technical references in the abstract alone.

"Well feel free to log onto the system if you need to look up anything," Montes told her, and gestured to a laptop sitting in the middle of the table, with a large sticker reading "Room C' across it. "And help yourself out to the pizza!" he added, catching them both eyeing the boxes hungrily.

While Scully pulled the laptop towards her, Mulder propped open the box, and passed her two pieces before serving himself. After she'd eaten, Scully flipped open _Physical Letters Review_ and started to skim through Geoff Love's biography, while Mulder circled the table and began to consult with Jamie over the lawsuit files. She half-listened, but knew that as soon as she plunged into the article, she would be too engrossed to hear anything else.

"What have you found so far?" Mulder asked Jamie in a low tone, while Montes and O'Brien went back to their boxes as well.

(". . .undergrad at UCLA, Masters and Ph.D. at Cal Berkeley, post-doc at Stanford. . ." Scully read.)

"Zydek was charging Love with industrial espionage and conspiracy," the slightly younger agent answered. "From what I've gathered, the gist of it is that Zydek had an employee who'd been his protégé since the guy was an undergrad lab assistant. Larry Mitfuhlend is the name. Zydek had fostered a long-term relationship and shared a lot of his vision, not to mention his research, with him. Then, several years ago, Mitfuhlend met Love, and Love managed to recruit him away from Zydek into his own new company. Zydek charges that Love used the employee's knowledge to steal ideas that Zydeknologie had been developing."

(". . .He has published numerous definitive texts in quantum mechanics, such as _Macroscopic Properties of Classical Systems_ and_ Many-worlds or Relative-State Interpretation_. ..")

"But to me, it doesn't look as if he has much of a case," Jamie continued.

"Jamie went to Harvard Law," Montes pitched in, without even looking up from his work.

"Why doesn't he have much of a case?" Mulder asked.

"Love's lawyers said that he was prepared to show that he'd already put significant research into all the areas he has since pursued, prior even to meeting Mitfulheld, and that he was tied to that set of ideas because it was how he received funding when starting his company. So he couldn't have been influenced by taking on Zydek's old protégé."

(". . .Love started his own company, _P-works_, in 1996 after receiving funding from venture capitalists on Sand Hill Road in the San Francisco Bay Area. . ." _'P' for physics?_ she wondered.)

Her fellow agents turned back to their work after this exchange, and the only remaining noises were the low hum of the fluorescent lights, the rustling of papers, the flick of a sheet being turned. . .and the familiar sound of Mulder husking sunflower seeds. Scully took a quick glance up to see him snaking a finger into his front pocket with its telltale bulge, as he focused on his page. She suppressed a grin and felt a rush of warmth, and he seemed to sense her gaze, because just as he was about to pop another seed into his mouth, he looked up and his hazel eyes caught her blue ones. They softened for a moment and then he winked at her, and she rewarded him with a small smile, but quickly forced herself to delve into the article. The bio had been interesting, and now that she thought about it his was a somewhat familiar name in her journals, but it was this _study_ that most interested her. Lawsuits were somewhat rare in the science technology fields, so what was it that both teams had been working on, that Zydek was trying so hard to claim for himself?

After the first paragraph, Scully was already reaching for the laptop to refresh herself on some of the science, but it was so arcane that she didn't fault herself. She'd only gotten as far as a BS in physics, and this was very complex, avante garde work. It was slow going, as she paused every few minutes to look up a term or concept that she either couldn't remember well, or hadn't ever learned. Despite the supplemental help, she still had to read several sections over again numerous times to be sure that she got the correct meaning, and even then, she half-believed that she was still in error because what she was understanding was so far-fetched and incredible. But the more she read, the better grasp she had of the material, and as the picture began to form in context, she felt her eyes getting wider and wider.

If what she was piecing together through her own knowledge and the aid of the internet was correct—and she was now 99.9 certain that it was—Mulder was going to have a _field day_.

After over an hour and a half poring over the material, she closed the journal in a daze and looked up, blood roaring in her ears. Immediately Mulder raised his head from his work as well, in tune with her as ever. He shut the file he was perusing and cocked his head, watching her with an expression of keen interest not unlike how he had looked at her only several hours before in the shower. Even that mental image wasn't enough to distract her from the words she had just read, though, which was a testimony to their power.

"Are you done with the article?" he asked, but she could only nod, her eyes perfect circles. Thoughts raced through her head, and she opened and closed her mouth twice before she could speak.

"Mulder, what they're each claiming to be on the verge of. . .it's incredible. It's beyond anything I've read about before. I mean. . ." She struggled to find the words. . . "I can't even convey what an incredible discovery this would be, if successful. How world-changing. And it doesn't mention this in the article, but I can tell you that whoever got close to a breakthrough would receive billions in contracts. Forget the Nobel Prize, we're talking billions and _billions_. This would be one of the most historic discoveries ever made in science."

Mulder encouraged her on with an excited nod and raised eyebrows, and she looked around the room to see that she had the rapt attention from the three other agents as well. Before she continued, though, she paused for a moment to collect her thoughts and try to regain some calm in order to articulate what she had read.

"Both Geoff Love and Hans Zydek have been researching ways to transmit data which would be used to precisely reconstruct an object or organism at its destination," Scully began, trying to pare down the technical speak as much as possible, so that the others could follow. An image suddenly flashed into her head. "Umm, think Mike Teavee, in _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_. . .At this point, they're still looking at various technical issues, such as whether the duplication of a human would require reproduction of the exact quantum state, which necessarily destroys the original and has significant religious and moral implications, or whether macroscopic measurements would suffice. They're calling it 'Replacement Tranferrence.' But the more familiar term would be—"

"_Teleportation_," Mulder said, staring at her. She looked back into the intensity of his eyes, and nodded wordlessly.

Jamie and O'Brien exchanged long looks, while Montes barked out a laugh in amazement. "Are you _sure_ that's what it says, Agent Scully?" he asked, though his tone was one of amused astonishment rather than disdain.

"I am," she replied, and as soon as she said it, she knew it was the truth. "I can't even begin to explain the technical minutiae of _how_ they're planning to achieve this, though they are being deliberately vague in order to protect their research. But yes, they both say they're closing in on major discoveries in teleportation."

"The government is no stranger to this type of study," Mulder expounded, picking up on her thread. "It's rumored that both the Philadelphia Project and the Montauk Project dealt with teleportation in various forms. In the former, the USS Eldridge was said to have disappeared, and transported over 215 miles. . ."

"And this _isn't_ a totally unorthodox topic in science," Scully added, speaking over Agent O'Brien's derisive snort at Mulder's words. "_Scientific American_ has published articles on the "Displacement" or "Topological shortcut" theories of teleportation. I've just never seen a _study_ from not one, but two teams of scientists making claims that they're close to actual breakthroughs."

"So our vic was dealing in sci-fi," Jamie murmured, shaking his head in disbelief.

"More 'sci,' less 'fi,'" Mulder answered him. "And Agent Scully is right—such a discovery would not only win billions in various contracts, but the the highest possible accolades in his field and a major place in history. Einstein would have nothing on the scientist who found a way to teleport."

"Sure sounds like motive to me," Montes said, ". . .If Zydek believed Love was going to get credit, and knew his own suit against him was weak." He looked around the room. "When billions of dollars are at stake, not to mention your place of glory in the history books, what's a little murder and kidnapping?"

Mulder nodded vigorously. "Not only motive, but perhaps even means. Don't forget why Scully and I are here—this was labeled an X-Files after the Love family was killed or abducted from within their locked house. I want to know how close Zydek really was to cracking this so-called 'replacement transferrence.'"

Jamie and O'Brien continued to stare at Mulder, transfixed by his readiness to believe just as Scully had been once, but Montes looked delighted. He was getting the validation that they did indeed need the X-Files on their case, while also staying within the realm of science. "Well we're trying to track Zydek down, and as soon as we do, I'm sure you and Agent Scully will want to take a crack at him."

Scully couldn't wait. She was left stunned breathless by the potential convergence of her and Mulder's belief systems, and wanted nothing more than to have a one-on-one conversation about what Zydek had discovered. _If that's how the murders had been committed_. . . but thinking about that possibility was like staring directly at the brilliance of the sun: almost too dazzling to take in, and dizzying.

The next thing Scully realized, they were at the elevators, saying their goodbyes to the rest of the team, and Montes was promising them that he'd get SFPD to put out an All Points Bulletin on Zydek, and they'd help step up the search. "I'm not sure how I'll explain why we're suddenly so much more interested in him than earlier in the day, though. . ." he mused.

As soon as the doors closed in front of them and they were alone in the elevator, Scully slumped sideways against the door and felt a wave of exhaustion suddenly overtake her. Between the time change, the long day, the traveling, the energy she'd expended in their afternoon 'exercise,' and her rush over the journal article she read, she could barely keep her eyes open. "Wha' time is it?" she asked Mulder, and he chuckled at the slurring of her words, then checked his watch.

"Almost ten."

"Ten!" she exclaimed. "That's one in the morning our time." All she could see in her mind's eye was her motel bed, large and empty, waiting for her to lose consciousness on it.

"Yeah, but what a day, huh?" He smiled over at her, and reached for a lock of hair dangling in her face just as the door slid open. He dropped his hand out of habit, and smiled at her instead.

"No kidding," she tried to agree, but most of it was obliterated by a massive yawn, and this time Mulder couldn't seem to help himself from putting his arm around her as they made their way to their car.

"What are you going to ask?" Mulder asked her, once they were in the car and they were easing out of the driveway up to Larkin St., but Scully's brain felt so fuzzy that she could hardly make sense of his question.

"Ask who, Mulder?"

"Zydek, once we find him? What are you going to ask him?" How was it that he sounded so energized when she felt so thoroughly drained?

"Ummmm," she said, trying to shake the sleep from her mind, yet wanting to badly succumb to it as well. "I'd ask him if he knows where the Love children are."

Mulder let a beat of silence tick by, then: "Really? He's on the brink of changing the world as we know it and you'd ask a question about our case? I'm impressed, Scully. That's commitment."

Scully narrowed her eyes at that, though; he didn't really sound impressed, in fact he sounded distinctly _un_impressed.

"Yes I would, Mulder, because we've got three missing kids," she retorted. "And before they're safe, the rest of it is secondary. As soon as we get them back, assuming they're still alive, then of course I'd want to know everything. But my _own_ interests are not what's important here."

He nodded thoughtfully, and she recognized that as his concession, and leaned her head back against the side of the door, but she was less drowsy than she had been a moment ago. "What do you think?"

"What do I think I'd ask?"

"No. . .what do you think about the case now?" She swiveled her face towards him, and watched his unchanging expression as he navigated through traffic.

Once again, Mulder let a moment of silence pass before he answered. "I think I owe Montes a steak dinner for bringing us in on this." He was evading the full truth, and not only did she know it, but he knew she knew it.

"You're not disappointed?" she asked, and he chuffed loudly.

"Disappointed? Why would I be disappointed?"

"Well you thought it was—"

"I thought it was one thing, and it might be another. It happens all the time on our cases, Scully."

"Mulder," she cut in, placing a hand on his thigh. "You thought it was Starlight, and it looks like it's something else. You're okay with that?"

At first Mulder didn't seem to have registered the question, but then his expression flickered a little, and he sighed and glanced towards her. "It was more familiar territory," he admitted. "And I might have been able to bring a measure of understanding to the family, although it looks like there isn't really any. Apparently neither of the murdered Loves had any parents or siblings. . ." He bit his bottom lip, obviously turning something over in his head. "But actually, Scully, I'm relieved."

She squeezed his thigh at that, and he dropped his right hand from the steering wheel to take her hand in his. They spent the rest of the car ride in silence.


	6. Part 5

Despite how exhausted she had been the night before, Scully came awake easily at seven in the morning, just as gray light was starting to filter through the thick motel blinds. Immediately, her thoughts turned towards what she had read the previous night, and she felt the same sense of awe begin to overtake her again. The scientists' postulations would have been exciting enough, but coupled with the facts of the case (the killer and kids seeming to disappear into thin air!) it was phenomenal, because it pointed to actual _success_. She could hear Mulder bustling about in his adjoining room, and was grateful that he had let her sleep some before getting a start on the day. As soon as that thought had entered her head though, a rapid-fire knock came at her door, one which she instantly recognized.

She opened the door and he lifted up two Styrofoam cups of oily-looking coffee by way of greeting, and she stood aside yawning and let him come in.

"I just got off the phone with Montes," he told her without preamble, and set down the coffee on a small table beneath the room's window. "SFPD reports they've had no success with talking to Zydek's staff for his location: either they actually don't know, or they're protecting him. Also, no hit on the APB, but he says that they're following up some other leads and he'll let me know as soon as anything happens." Following the coffee, he whipped out a continental breakfast Danish, and Scully pulled a face at the sight of the thick white pastry bread with its heavily sugared frosting smeared against the inside of its plastic wrapping. But then, grinning, Mulder also procured a container of low-fat vanilla custard yogurt, and placed it next to her coffee with a flourish.

Scully smiled appreciatively and sat down at the table, then wrapped her hands around the overly hot brew, breathing in the caffeine as if to absorb it by osmosis before it cooled enough for her to take a sip.

"Have you checked in with the crime lab too?" she asked him, thinking about the strange substance that had been in that one bindle.

"Yeah," he confirmed, and started to unwrap the Danish, while she scrunched her nose at it. "I just left a message on the supervisor's voicemail, so hopefully I'll hear back from him. Meanwhile, I thought we could maybe drive down to Cupertino in Silicon Valley and talk to the employees of P-Works, to see if Love's lawyers were telling the truth that he'd already had this idea."

"They may have other insights as well," Scully agreed, taking a tiny test sip of the coffee and peeling off the seal of the yogurt, "on the relationship between Zydeknologie and P-Works, and the respective brains behind both, and how the employee Larry Mitfuhlend fits into all of it."

"Yeah, he's at the top of my list for questioning," Mulder agreed, then took a huge bite of the pastry. Halfway through chewing, he reached for his coffee and swigged some of it, then sputtered at its hot temperature. "Bi' dry," he explained through a mouth full of food, and Scully just watched him with one eyebrow up, but he ignored her and took another bite.

"Okay, I'll just go shower and get dressed. . ." She might have woken up easily, but she still felt a little groggy, and could use something invigorating. Though they had been carrying this type of caseload for seven years, she still had trouble with time changes on mornings following a flight.

"Want company?" he asked after another swallow, a suggestive glint in his eye, and Scully wanted to look stern, but couldn't help it when the edges of his lips twitched up. "I think in the interest of time, I better make this one solo," she said, and made her way towards the bathroom. Mulder feigned a deeply wounded sigh, but caught her hand as she passed by.

"So I'll just call and tell them we'll be there around 9, then? Catch them as they're getting into work?"

Scully looked at their fingers, and intertwined them more tightly, "Don't give them any warning," she said. "Who knows who might 'call in sick' if they caught word of the FBI coming back again? Let's just surprise them."

"_Everybody_ loves a surprise, Scully," Mulder agreed, also watching their entangled fingers.

She gave him a gentle smile, then dropped her hand and crossed the rest of the way to the bathroom. After closing the door behind her, she adjusted the dial until she got a hot, revitalizing temperature, then pulled her pajama top over her head, and stepped out of her bottoms into the tub. The tiny points of wet heated pressure instantly took her back to the previous afternoon, and for a moment she was deeply tempted to call Mulder in after all, but she bit back his name at the last moment. She needed to focus on the case, and that would be the last way to start off a productive day.

But several minutes later, just as she was rinsing the conditioner from her hair, he knocked quickly on the door then barged in anyway. He yanked the curtain to the side and ignoring her shocked expression, exclaimed, "They found Zydek! They're bringing him in for questioning right now, and the SFPD has given us first crack."

At eight o'clock, after Scully had finished dressing and drying her hair, and the two of them had checked in on any other overnight developments with Montes, they got into the rental car and made their way over to the Hall of Justice, and Mulder filled Scully in on what he had learned. Apparently Agent O'Brien had been looking through Hans Zydek's tax returns, when he noticed the recent purchase of a Cessna private jet. Agents had then searched registration to see what jet he owned, and had followed this up by looking at the flight plans at local airports to see if he had any recent activity. Sure enough, he was coming in from Pebble Beach that very morning.

Again Montes rendezvoused with them in the lobby, and jabbed at the button for the fifth floor of the building, though Scully was tempted to drop in on the crime lab to see what, if any, developments there might be with their evidence. _After_ they talked to Zydek, though. He was definitely the top priority now. She suddenly felt tingly and breathless—was she about to discover that a science-based method of teleportation, or 'Replacement Transference' _really existed_? She grabbed Mulder's wrist and as soon as glanced at her, he could gauge her feelings and grinned. "Could be part of history here, huh?" he murmured, and she nodded wide-eyed.

The door slid open into Central Booking, where Montes led them past the desk sergeant with the flash of a badge, and they entered a large room with a similar layout as the FBI office, except that it teemed with a much more chaotic, loud, and haphazard energy. As soon as they were several feet inside, a stocky man with thick black hair held up his hand in greeting, then picked his way through the desks towards them.

"Chief Fred Lau," Montes said, clasping hands with the man before turning aside and gesturing at Mulder and Scully. "These are my colleagues from DC that you heard about."

The chief leaned over and shook both of their hands as well, a grim expression on his face. "Agents Mulder and Scully, yes. I've heard a lot, and I'm sure most of it should be taken with a grain of salt—" Scully couldn't help but inwardly smirk at that; if anything, their reputation was _understated_ compared with what they actually dealt with in their cases "—but regardless," Chief Lau continued, "if you've got insight into this one, I'd appreciate it. So far we've been able to keep the media out of the loop, but now that we've brought in Zydek it won't stay that way. So the sooner we can get this solved, the better."

"He hasn't asked for his lawyer yet has he?" Scully wanted to know. She wouldn't be surprised if that were the first thing out of his mouth, especially considering his sensitive position with the court case.

"No, actually," the chief responded, and indicated that they walk with him. "He says he'll answer any question that we have for him, and that we should note that he's being fully cooperative."

Mulder and Scully exchanged looks and nodded thoughtfully, then followed Lau into a darkened hallway, with a series of doors lining either side. He stood aside at one marked 'H,' where several other officers were already grouped. Mulder and Scully were introduced to the lead detectives on the homicide, Inspectors Terca and McNabb, and the chief explained on all their behalf that the FBI agents could take the first crack at Zydek, and he, Terca, and McNabb would observe. "And we've got his flight crew in the other rooms, where we have other detectives questioning his alibi," he finished.

"Thank you," Scully said, and peered through the pane of one-sided glass in the door to take a look at the scientist. He was in his late forties and tall and angular, with short, neat dark blonde hair, a trimmed goatee, and thin, titanium-framed glasses. He was sitting stock-still, just staring at his hands on the table in front of him.

"Go ahead," he nodded at Inspector Terca, who punched in a code to unlock the door for the agents. Before heading in, Mulder turned to Montes.

"You coming?"

The other agents smirked and shook his head. "No, I'm going to let the great Spooky Mulder do his thing. I'll watch from out here."

Scully couldn't tell if the use of the 'Spooky' moniker had annoyed her partner; he just nodded without expression before entering the room, and Scully followed him.

Immediately, Hans Zydek stood and lifted up his palms up towards them. "Like I told the others, I will answer any and all questions you have, without representation," he told them in almost impeccable American English, colored with only the slightest trace of his original accent. "I want to make it clear I had _nothing_ to do with this tragedy."

"Have a seat, Dr. Zydek," Mulder told him, and he took a chair opposite the scientist, while Scully took up a position against the wall to survey the scene.

Mulder reached into his case and pulled out the casefile and a pad of paper, then lifted his face back up to the detainee. "So Dr. Zydek, you stand to gain a lot from the death of Geoffrey Love. Your lawsuit wasn't quite going the way you wanted, and so—"

"The lawsuit was going just fine, actually," he contradicted.

"Huh. Not according to Love's lawyers or investors," Mulder parried back, "who say he could have proven that he'd already had the idea prior to taking on Mitfuhlend."

"Because they aren't _at all_ biased. . ." Zydek said softly. "But anyway," he continued, "it's all moot because I have an alibi."

"Yes, you say you were in Pebble Beach," Mulder said, and he nodded.

"Pebble Beach is an easily driven distance, though," Scully broke in for the first time. "It's possible that you had your jet go ahead of you to arrange an alibi, and you joined them later."

Zydek shook his head vehemently at that. "I was on that flight both ways. Check with my pilot and flight crew!"

"We're doing that now," Scully answered.

"But they're your employees," Mulder went on. "So it might not be good enough."

"Look, I was using the courts to hash out my issue with Love. I'm not a violent man, I'm a _scientist_."

"Would you be willing to provide us with a DNA sample and fingerprints then?" Scully asked.

He looked sullen for a moment, then relented. "Yes, on the condition that they're destroyed once I'm cleared."

"That's standard operating procedure."

"Then okay, because I know it'll prove what I'm saying. I had nothing to do with this. . . butchery. Though I was skeptical over how he first got his ideas on Replacement Transferrence—I'm assuming you're aware of my work—I deeply respected him as a peer. There was no denying that he was brilliant, and the competition we fostered made me into a better scientist myself. I didn't want him dead, and I'd never, ever involve his family in our professional disputes."

"Do you have any idea who would, then?" Mulder asked.

Immediately, Zydek's expression darkened. "I do, but you might think that I'm saying so out of some sort of long-held grudge. I'm not, though."

"Who?" Mulder prompted, poising his pen over the pad of paper on the table.

"Larry Mitfuhlend, my former assistant."

Mulder and Scully exchanged expressions. That name just kept coming up. Zydek saw and seemed to interpret it as skepticism.

"No, listen," he insisted. "He's proven he has no loyalty or professional principles—he left me the moment Love got that substantial investment, wouldn't even discuss it, despite the fact we'd been working together as a team for nearly eight years. It was devastating to my progress. It probably set me back almost a year, which can be a lifetime in high-stakes technology research like this. He knew it would, too, but he didn't care. He just went for the money."

Scully thought about how she'd feel if Mulder just left her like that, and found herself sympathizing with the scientist, although she supposed that in this case _Mulder_ was Zydek, and _she'd_ be Mitfuhlend. Well, Mulder had nothing to worry about with that. She gave him the hint of a smile, and he seemed to know exactly why, and acknowledged it with a softened expression and a slow blink.

"So you suggest that we look into Mr. Mitfuhlend's whereabouts that night?" he asked, turning back to the man across from him.

"And question him, yes."

Mulder nodded thoughtfully. "On the other hand, you have to admit that it would be the perfect crime," he said. "You get rid of your rival, and take revenge against your former assistant by framing him for the murder, in one fell swoop."

Zydek looked pained. "Yes, I know that it could be seen as that way. But you have to believe me, I am not capable of that sort of scheming."

"Dr. Zydek, if you're closing in on a way to _teleport_, I'd say you're probably capable of almost anything," Scully replied.

He shook his head again. "Not that level of violence. I really insist."

"Well speaking of teleportation, the _evidence_ 'insists' that something strange happened that night," Mulder told him. "I'm not sure if you know any details, but the house was locked from within when the murders occurred, and the children vanished from a closed-off room. It's almost as if someone 'transferred' in, killed the adults, then repeated the process in the children's room, and grabbed them then left by the same means."

Zydek already pale face completely drained of all remaining color. "What? _No_. . .no it's not possible. There must be some sort of other explanation."

"That's what Agent Scully said," Mulder answered. "But we inspected the house from top to bottom, and so far we haven't come up with any. And then, lo and behold, who should be conducting a lawsuit against our victim, but someone who might have discovered a way to teleport."

"No, no, _no_," Zydek repeated fervently. "You don't understand. . .we were still years away from any sort of true breakthrough. _Years_ and years. And even if we had finally broken in on the technology, there would be another several years of testing and perfecting, starting with rats and moving upward. We were _nowhere_ near that. Nowhere near." He paused, an expression of total disbelief on his face. "But. . ."

"But what?" Scully prompted.

"I know I'm going back to Larry again, but. . .he was practically a partner in Love's research. If they were at that point, he would've had full access. . .but I can't believe. . ." Zydek broke off again, apparently overcome by awe.

"Do you think it's possible?" Mulder asked.

"I wouldn't have thought so, no! It seemed as though we were roughly at the same place in our research, and hitting the same roadblocks. But if the crime scene was as you describe. . . Look, Larry's in a position to gain _everything_. Now that Dr. Love is out of the picture, he stands to take over the company and the investment. It could all go to him—the glory, the honors, the money. Money seems to bring out the worst in him, as he's already demonstrated." Zydek was on a roll now. "And if they had indeed discovered how to conduct Replacement Transference, what was to stop him from killing Love before P-works got the chance to reveal their monumental discovery to the world? He wouldn't need Dr. Love's mind and vision anymore to achieve the dream, so he could get rid of him and take all the credit. And everything else." Zydek sat back in his chair after finishing, and started to shake his head again. "I can't believe they did it. . . how did they beat me?" he muttered to himself.

Mulder flipped the file open to some of the crime scene photographs of Geoffrey Love, and rotated it to show Zydek.

"So you think your former assistant is capable of this level of violence? This looks personal to me, Doctor, I don't know about you. . ."

Zydek stared at the photo in mute horror, and his eyes started to tear up. "I didn't need to see that," he said thickly. "I don't want to think of Geoff like that."

"Please answer the question," Mulder said, tapping on the picture.

"I didn't think Larry was capable of selling out our partnership, but he did. So yes, I guess I wouldn't really put anything past him, now. I don't know why the attack was so personal, but maybe Geoff did something to catalyze this. Maybe he wasn't going to give Larry as much of a split of the profits as he felt entitled to, or he wasn't going to share any potential prizes with him."

"But that's purely speculation," Scully clarified.

"It is," Zydek admitted. "But regardless, if I were you I'd want to take a good, hard look at Larry. He's proven that he's got no scruples, and he stands to take the prime spot in history with Geoff out of the way."

Mulder turned to look at Scully, and she raised her eyebrows back at him._ Did she have anything else to ask? _his expression said, and she gave a slight shake of the head.

"Okay, Dr. Zydek, thank you for answering our questions. You've given us something to think about."

"Can I go then?" he asked, slowly making as if to stand up.

"That's SFPD's call," Mulder answered as he gathered up the file and notebook. "And they'll want to take you to the lab downstairs for processing, as well. I hope you didn't have any pressing engagements?"

Zydek still looked as if he were shell-shocked from seeing the crime scene photos of his former professional rival—or perhaps the idea that Love might have beaten him to the punch by years. "No. . .no," he murmured softly, slumping back into the chair.

Scully turned to the door and knocked on it, and she heard a click and tried the knob. As she opened it Mulder sidled up next to her and murmured into her ear, "Well now Mitfuhlend is really on the top of my list, Scully,"

"Yeah," she agreed. "Talk about motives. . ."

"And means. . ."

"_Maybe_," she added quickly, and they looked at each other with smiles, appreciating their classic exchange.

"YOU'VE GOT TO BE _KIDDING_ ME," an angry shout broke in through their private moment, and they both looked up, startled, to see Chief Lau, red in the face and furious. His two detectives were gawking as well. "I gave you first crack for that?!"

"Sir. . ." Mulder started, in an assuaging tone, but the older man cut him off.

"I gave you the benefit of the doubt, agents, but now I'm wondering why! Through your absolutely ludicrous teleport theory, you gave him a clear out, and now there's no way he's going to take anything we say seriously. His lawyers can make us look like total fools by raising this interrogation in the court room. We'd look completely incompetent, thanks to you two!"

"Dr. Zydek had a point though, Chief Lau," Scully cut in, not wanting to let him bulldoze them. "Larry Mitfuhlend has a pattern of betraying his superiors in the past, and he does stand to gain everything if Love was out of the picture."

"That's neither here nor there, Agent Scully. We already wanted to talk to Dr. Mitfuhlend. It was the way you presented yourself in my interrogation room, when he was in my custody, that I _cannot_ believe, or tolerate."

"I don't think we risked the SFPD's credulity with him," Mulder said softly but insistently. "_You_ may not buy that teleportation is a possibility, but these people are real scientists, with serious investment behind them, closing in on this technology. And it's Zydek's life work. He took it very seriously."

Chief Lau just stood there staring at them intensely, obviously seething. "Well if that's where you're going with your case, if that's the cop-out you want to take—that it was just someone who _teleported_ in and out like the god-damned _Jetsons_—I don't think it's a good idea for us to be conducting a joint investigation anymore," he spat out.

"So you wanted our 'insights,'" Mulder retorted, "but only if they fit into your _own_ perceptions of the case?"

Chief Lau's face grew even redder at that, and he seemed to swell. "I'm sure you can understand that if I were to go to the Chronicle and Examiner with this, the SFPD would be crucified. My career would be over. So we need to go separate directions at this point. You can continue to use the lab since you've already got evidence processing, but you need to use your own facilities for everything else from now on. Good day, agents."

He turned on his heal and stalked away, and as he retreated, Scully heard him growl to his detectives, "Grain of salt my ass, what a couple of wackjobs. What the fuck am I going to say to the press?!"

Montes, who had been standing there through the entire exchange somewhat wide-eyed, gave them a grimace. "I better call Park ASAP to do damage control," he said, and also turned and followed Lau down the hall, leaving the two agents on their own.

Scully turned to Mulder, and opened her mouth to say something, but he beat her to it:

"Hey Scully, the Jetsons had those _elevator_ things right? They didn't teleport, did they?"

* * *

Word of their interrogation must have preceded them at lightening-fast speed, because on the way back through the bullpen, they were met with dozens of open stares. It was significantly quieter than it had been on their way in, as well. Scully had gotten fairly used to it, though, and held her head up high. Mulder, on the other hand, just seemed oblivious. Chief Lau and Montes were nowhere to be seen, and so they went straight for the elevators and Mulder jabbed at the down button.

"I'm sorry that wasn't exactly the life-changing meeting you'd hoped for," he suddenly spoke, and Scully lifted her lifted her eyebrosw in acknowledgment.

"I'm not really surprised," she responded a moment later. "I have been somewhat out of touch, but I'm not _so_ out of touch with what's going on in the scientific community that I wouldn't have heard about a team that was conducting trials for _teleportation_."

"It may be that we just talked to the wrong team: if _Zydek_ didn't even know how potentially close P-Works was, they're obviously jealously guarding their progress. So no way would you have heard through the grapevine."

"And if the P-Works team denies that they're any closer than Zydeknologie?"

"Then we go to the investors; they might be less tight-lipped about it. I just do not believe that this research subject has nothing to do with our case. Two crimes were committed within locked rooms, and one of the victims was pioneering teleportation technology, I mean come on! It's just too close of a fit, Scully. It has to be related somehow."

"Now _I_ should be saying that it's actually someone with the congenital ability to walk through solid matter like walls, and take people back with him. . ." she answered with a small smirk, then followed him into the open elevator.

He cocked his head to the side and gave her a look of curiosity.

"I just take it we've switched places since you're the one championing for the scientific explanation here," she answered teasingly.

"Ah, but it _is_ about teleporting, so it's still 'just weird enough' for me to endorse it."

The doors slid open to deposit them on the ground floor. Though she had wanted to drop into the lab on the floor below Central Booking, they had more pressing matters to attend, namely beating SFPD to the punch of talking to Mitfuhlend, since they were no longer in cooperation. Besides, the lab was the one area Lau said that they _were_ still allowed full access, so with any luck, the supervisor would give them a call as soon as there were any new developments.

She hoped that they were close to a breakthrough with the physical evidence, since it had already been forty hours since the children had disappeared. That was never a good number, no matter what the circumstances were, and Park, Montes, O'Brien, and Jamie had already exhausted all the orthodox leads they could before she and Mulder had even arrived from Washington. What _had_ happened to the Love children? Scully fell into a silence, and throughout the long drive to Cupertino, she continued to mull over it.

So far, the evidence had really only seemed to illuminate the murder case, and that wasn't even their official reason for being in California. And now that Lau had cut them off from that case's resources, it would prove even more of a challenge to try to make sense of the kidnapping (or abduction, or disappearance, or _whatever)_. But even the scant leads they _did_ have in the murder didn't at all help to explain children's disappearance.

_Unless_. . .unless Mulder _had_ been onto something with Starlight. . . But that was too hard to believe. That would mean that there were _two_ X-Files—with the exact same characteristics—in one case. Her mind had become a lot more open since starting on this journey with Mulder years ago, but she just couldn't force it _that_ wide. No, Mulder was right the second time around. The teleportation research had to be the key. But why the kids? Where _were_ they? Why were the wife and babysitter murdered too, unless it was simply because they were witnesses? But then, why such a level of violence and depravity? It really _had _looked personal. . .

"Penny for 'em?" Mulder finally asked after almost an hour of silence and questioning glances in Scully's direction.

"Hmm?" she asked, coming out of her reverie. "Oh. Just thinking about the kids. So far we have nothing, Mulder. Nothing. . ."

He nodded with a grim expression. "They literally did vanish into thin air, which makes it somewhat challenging."

She leaned back against the headrest, with the smiling school photos of Winnie, Jon, and Mikey jumping into her mind's eye. She had almost let her excitement at a potentially epochal scientific discovery distract her from the real reason they were there, but it was now packing a serious emotional punch. Suddenly, she felt Mulder's warm hand taking hers.

"Dr. Mitfuhlend seems like a promising lead," he told her encouragingly. "And if he has nothing to do with this and we can't get anything from that angle, maybe he can tell us of a place the kids could've hidden. He's probably the closest thing to extended family they have, from the amount of time he and their dad would've had to spend together."

"I don't know, Mulder," she answered skeptically, looking out the window. "I feel like they would have shown up by now if they were simply hiding. They'd be hungry and thirsty, and getting over their shock. But as of two hours ago, Montes told us that no shelters in the entire Bay Area have seen any groups of kids matching the Loves' description."

Mulder pursed his lips thoughtfully, but had nothing to say, and Scully just sighed heavily and continued to look out on the gray skies. Would they be able to do justice to the kidnapping case without full and unadulterated access to the murder case developments? If those kids died because SFPD Chief Lau had a temper tantrum about their unorthodox methods of investigation. . .she felt her pulse quicken at the thought. But who knew, maybe they were already dead. Maybe they had been dead for forty hours, killed at the same time as their parents and babysitter, but actually disposed-of, for some reason.

She closed her eyes and tried to think more positively, because recently she'd had too many thoughts of dead children—or children that had never come to live at all—running through her mind . She didn't need to confront the idea of more until she _knew_ it was a reality. . .

But God, she hoped it wasn't. . .she _needed_ a miracle.


	7. Part 6

Scully was in awe with the P-Works compound. She knew that they had received some serious funding, but this was truly amazing. Nestled in a small valley that had probably been completely barren of any construction only a decade previously, P-Works rose out of the earth like a gargantuan rounded crystal. Pale silver glass that cast the sheen of the sun into a bright arc around the grounds encased the upper levels of the building in a graceful curve, reminiscent of the Guggenheim museum in New York, and the lower portion was totally open and designed with a masterful attention to Zen-like details.

They had passed the security checkpoint back down a narrow tree-lined road that could have easily led to a winery, but instead they found themselves in the entrance of this futuristic set of offices. As they looked around the wide, white reception area, hoping to see some sort of receptionist or desk, a stunningly gorgeous woman emerged from an inner door and approached them. Just as the office looked like it was out of the pages of a postmodern design magazine, she looked like she was out of Vogue, with her long legs, tumbling chestnut hair, and wide turquoise eyes. No one else could have pulled off looking as natural in this setting as she did.

She extended a long graceful arm towards Mulder. "Security alerted me that you were here. I'm Paloma Laurence, director of public relations here."

"Agents Mulder and Scully," Scully answered, trying not to let herself feel at all territorial or self-conscious when the woman's eyes raked over Mulder's frame flirtatiously. To his credit, he either didn't register it or made a good effort to act oblivious, both which pleased her.

"We weren't expecting you," she said to Scully, "but of course we're happy to cooperate in any way possible to see justice done for Geoff and Marie. And to find their poor babies."

"We'd like to talk to Dr. Mitfuhlend, or get his home address if he's not here."

"Oh, he's here," she answered immediately. "The team took yesterday off but we're all back today. I'm not sure if you're aware of what goes on here, but it's very difficult to lose much time. We have bereavement counselors in though, should anyone need them." She saw their expressions. "Geoff would have wanted it this way," she assured them. "He wouldn't want us to lose even more than we already have."

"If we may. . .?" Mulder asked, gesturing to the hall from where she'd emerged, but she moved to block his path in one quick fluid movement.

"I'm afraid not," she said in a regretful tone. "They work in a completely sterile environment, and have a very specific decontamination process that we'd rather not put you through, not to mention our work is quite confidential." She added in a honeyed tone, "I'm sure you understand."

"Can you give him a call?"

"Of course!" she answered perkily. "And I'll just direct you into our boardroom where you can have your chat."

'Chat' isn't the word Scully had in mind for when they talked to him, but at least Ms. Laurence would retrieve him for them. She could easily imagine her saying something like "I'm sorry, but our work is far too important to spare Larry for even a few minutes to answer any of your little questions," but decided that was probably being uncharitable. That tended to happen when other women expressed any interest in her partner, though. . . She smirked to herself. Now, at least, she had justification for it. He really _was_ hers.

They were shown to a large rounded room that sat a story above the grounds, like a large bubble or the prow of a spaceship, and looked out over the rest of the valley. "Speaking of the Jetson's. . ." Mulder said in her ear as Ms. Laurence left, and Scully gave him a perfunctory half-smile, but couldn't summon the will to make it look sincere. Though she was personally thrilled to be here and talk to a member of a team working on such historic research, she couldn't help but feel anxious, knowing that the Love children were still out there. Sure, this was their only lead so she could partially justify it, but it was frustrating that they didn't have anything more _tangible_.

Mulder sensed it and came around to stand next to her at the window. "You okay?" he asked in a low voice, putting his hand over hers on the sill and sweeping his thumb across the top.

"Just. . .really feeling the ticking clock," she answered immediately.

Mulder nodded thoughtfully, and Scully could have adequately left him with that, but since they'd started sleeping together, an interesting personal shift had happened. She'd begun to feel the opposite compulsions than she'd at the beginning of their partnership, so rather than hide her feelings with an "I'm fine," she wanted to share them with him. Though she had trusted him with her life for years, it took that final barrier to fall before she really, truly, and _comfortably_ trusted him with her soul.

"And. . ." she went on, "It somehow feels wrong that I'm getting such personal satisfaction out of this interview, when my primary concern should be the kids."

"This is the only lead we have, Scully. We have to follow it up," Mulder told her. "And the kids _are_ your primary concern, that much it obvious. You're being too hard on yourself."

She couldn't help but give a small—but this time genuine—smile at that, "Hmm, what's it like to have a partner who does _that_?" she asked, referring to the many, many times Mulder took upon himself an enormous burden of guilt or self-recrimination.

Mulder gave her a 'yeah, yeah, yeah,' look, and started to reply, when suddenly a reedy, nasal voice came from behind them, "Agents Mulder and Scully?"

Mulder's hand flew away from Scully's and they both turned to see Larry Mitfuhlend standing in the doorway.

Whatever Scully had expected of the guy so vilified by Hans Zydek, this was _not_ it. Dr. Mitfuhlend was only an inch or so taller than she herself, and with an even slighter built. He had bad posture, flat, greased-down brown hair, thick glasses, a lopsided graying mustache, and a very weak chin. In essence, he looked like someone who'd suffered the unkindness of the social world, and had thrown himself into science instead. Scully had seen many of this type in med school, and she always viewed them with a mixture of pity and annoyance. Dr. Mitfuhlend was bringing out that same feeling now, though it _was_ somewhat mitigated by the knowledge that he was probably one of the greatest scientists of their generation—or many, many generations. So, she supposed she should ignore his odd appearance.

Plus, what she had seen many times in the iFBI/i was that one should never, ever underestimate a person.

"Dr. Mitfuhlend?" Mulder asked, and Scully could tell that he was slightly surprised as well.

"That's right," he answered, standing there uncertainly.

"Do you mind if we all have a seat?" Her partner indicated to the long table, and the scientist bobbed his head up and down and echoed Mulder's gesture.

"Do—do you have any new information about who killed Geoff and Marie?" he asked anxiously, peering back and forth between the two of them. Scully couldn't tell if he was nervous because he was guilty, or just socially awkward.

"Aren't you worried about the kids, too?" she asked pointedly, and he flushed.

"Of course—of course. But I'd have heard if you found them, right?"

"We can't discuss an ongoing case," Mulder said, replying to the scientist's first question.

"Okay, but have you talked to Hans Zydek? He's suing us, you know," Mitfuhlend told them, in the voice of a petulant five-year-old. "He blames _me_ for P-works' progress in, well, are you aware of what we do?"

"We are," Scully answered. "Replacement Transference."

"_Are_ you to blame?" Mulder asked bluntly, as Dr. Mitfuhlend was nodding at Scully.

"No!" the scientist protested in a high-pitched whine. "He thinks I just cut and run for the money. It had _nothing_ to do with money."

"What _were_ your motivations, then?" Scully wanted to know. "What made you leave your partner of years and join up with a relative stranger?"

Dr. Mitfuhlend sighed then opened his mouth, but shut it again, looking stressed.

"Okay, here's one insight into our investigation, Doctor," Mulder said, leaning across the table. "We have talked to Dr. Zydek, and he made a pretty compelling case for why _you_ had a motive to kill Dr. Love. The trifecta: money, power, and glory. With Dr. Love out of the way, you stand to get it all."

"_No_," the scientist said again, more stridently. "I could never, ever hurt him. Nor his wife and that young girl! And, and his children were like my nieces and nephews. I wouldn't. . .I couldn't do that. . ."

"Where were you that night, then?" Mulder pressed. "Can anyone confirm your whereabouts?"

"Yes—I was on my boat at the Redwood City Marina. The _Jolly Roger_. I was alone, but you can check the logs, okay?"

"We will," Mulder assured him.

"You brought up Dr. Zydek—do you believe he's responsible?" Scully interjected, wanting to go back to that.

The scientist gnawed on his lip, and his eyes darted back and forth between the two of them for several moments before he responded. "The thing is, he was always so cold and detached. I mean most of us are somewhat like that, at this level of our profession, but he was at the extreme, practically a robot. So, maybe. Except that he'd never get his hands dirty himself, he'd hire someone to do it. "

Mulder shot a skeptical glance towards Scully, and she could easily interpret it. It was Mulder's opinion that this was no pro or hitman. The state of the bodies indicated extreme and personal rage—the opposite of a detached 'robot' or a meticulous pro.

"But Geoff Love wasn't like that, was he? He wasn't a 'robot.'" Mulder asked, and Scully sensed a sort of knowing tone in his voice. "Geoff had a life; somehow, he made it work, he managed to have it all. . ."

"He did," Dr. Mitfuhlend acknowledged, and something passed over his face as well. "Family was everything to him. He was the sort of genius, though, that he could look at things and see them exactly how they were, and know exactly what was needed to make them work. It would take him one hour to finish a project that it would take others a week to tackle. So he could afford to make time for his wife and kids. I can only _imagine_ what he could accomplish if he didn't make his family such a priority, though. Or even if he didn't have one at all."

"Did you see them as getting in the way, then?" Scully immediately asked. "You wanted to get rid of the family, and maybe Geoff died to protect them."

Mitfuhlend reeled backwards as if she had assaulted him, and looked absolutely horrified. "I _told _you, I'd never hurt his family, and my alibi will prove that I had nothing to do with this," he repeated shakily, his mustache quivering. "His compassion is what convinced me to come to P-Works in the first place, okay? He was the diametric opposite of Hans; he respected me as a scientist and a partner, rather than some assistant. After just an hour talking to him, I knew that I would be a valued member of the team, while with Hans I was still a lackey after years. And it's not just that. He. . ." But he lightly closed his eyes and gave a small shake of the head, and didn't go on.

"Well don't stop there," Mulder told him. "What else? What is it that you don't want to tell us?"

"Were you attracted to him?" Scully suggested, stepping out on a limb.

Mitfuhlend's eyes flew open at that. "Not in the way your tone is suggesting," he answered, glaring at her reproachfully. "I had the utmost professional and personal admiration for him. P-Works was driven by his vision, and I don't know if we can survive without him. He _was_ P-Works."

"And how close was he to this vision?" Mulder asked, getting to the heart of the issue: was P-Works closing in on a scientific way to teleport?

"Tragically not close enough for him to get any of the credit he deserves," the scientist said thickly, his voice wracked with seemingly-genuine grief. "He was destined to be one of the greatest names in history, but now he's just another nameless homicide victim. . .and now that we've lost his driving energy, who knows if we'll get there without him at all?"

"How many years away from a potential real break-through are you?" Scully wanted to know, and he gave her a doleful look.

"With Geoff, ten—fifteen years, maybe. But without him, who knows? A very long time, perhaps never. At least not in our lifetimes."

"You don't think Zydek is capable?" Scully asked.

"Like I said, he's a human robot. That kind of mind works exceptionally well in many scientific areas, but quantum mechanics requires creativity, flexibility, and a skewed way of seeing the universe. Geoff had all that, but Hans doesn't. It was never a question in my mind that P-Works would easily outpace Zydeknologie."

Mulder nodded slowly, seeming to take things in. Then: "By the way, what _does_ the P in P-Works stand for?" he asked, almost as a casual aside, though Scully could tell he really wanted to know. She couldn't guess why, though. And even more bizarre was Mitfuhlend's reaction.

He sort of paled and opened and closed his mouth before stuttering, "Ph-physics. It stands for physics."

"Hm," Mulder grunted, making it clear through his scrutinizing look that he didn't buy it for one second. Scully agreed completely that Mitfuhlend was being untruthful, but why would he lie about such a thing?

"Look, I really need to get back to work. Now it's down to me to keep things going, so I can't stay away for long." He made to rise, but with a short shake of Mulder's head, he sat back down again.

"You haven't told us anything to help us out," he pointed out.

"We'd _like_ to leave with more than we had before we made the commute all the way down here," Scully added. "The Love children's lives are at stake."

"I don't think I _can _give you any more," Mitfuhlend protested plaintively. "I already told you everything I know: the only one I can think who'd want to hurt him is Hans. Geoff didn't have any other enemies in the world."

Mulder turned from Mitfuhlend and made a show of asking Scully, "D'you believe that he's told us everything he knows?" Scully played along, and raised her eyebrows to show her skepticism.

Mulder turned back to Mitfuhlend. "There's something you're not telling us, something to do with your partnership with Love. And I don't know why you're hiding it, or whom you're protecting, but if you really do care about finding Geoff Love's killers, or having a chance to save his kids, you'd share it."

Mitfuhlend pursed his lips and stared stubbornly across the room, no longer making eye contact. "I've told you everything I can think of that could help out this case," he repeated stubbornly.

"_That could help out this case_," Scully quoted back to him. "So you're actually saying that what you're withholding has no bearing on the case, in your opinion," she intuited, and the scientist's eyes narrowed.

"Why don't you let us decide if it does that," Mulder urged. "Just tell us what you're thinking."

But Scully could see that it was no good. Mitfuhlend was a wall of silence; something had made him gain the courage he'd seemed to lack when they'd first met, and clam up. But why? She cast a frustrated look towards Mulder, and she could tell by his hardened expression that he felt the same way.

"Okay, Dr. Mitfuhlend," he finally said. "This is clearly not a productive use of any of our time. Know though, that we'll mark you as uncooperative, and if it looks like you've impeded the investigation in any way, we won't hesitate to charge you with obstruction of justice."

A small chill chased Scully's feelings of frustration; she secretly loved when Mulder became so decisive and authoritarian like that.

Dr. Mitfuhlend stood up from the table and Scully could see that despite his unyielding attitude, his hands were trembling. "I told you everything I can think of," he said in an insistent but nearly pleading voice, before turning towards the door.

"I think we all know that that's not true," Mulder replied after him, and at that the scientist picked up his pace to escape the room.

"Dammit Scully," Mulder said, and Scully nodded in agreement. They sat in silence for a moment, both turning over the brief and bizarre interview in their minds, trying to make sense of it.

"Mulder?" Scully finally asked, breaking the silence, and he turned towards her. "How did you know to ask Dr. Mitfuhlend about the P in P-Works? You certainly got a response from him, but what made you curious?"

"If the company is so personal for Love, and he had such 'vision,' then it made sense that the name would have significance. After all, just a 'p' is pretty ambiguous. I can't believe that it stands for the obvious 'physics,' which is too generic. And I guess from his reaction, I cut close to the quick of something."

Scully nodded. "But what. . ."

"That's the question. And I _don't_ believe that the answer to that has nothing to do with this case, as Mitfuhlend insinuates. The circumstances of their deaths and disappearances are too bizarre—if there's a secret surrounding Geoff (and Mitfuhlend's obvious loyalty suggests it _is_ Geoff he's protecting), then I'm willing to bet the damn farm that it gives some sort of context or insight into what happened."

Scully nodded at all this, but couldn't help her frustration from bubbling over as they stood up from the table and approached the door. "We have nothing, now, Mulder. We aren't any closer to finding the kids than we were before we drove down here, and yet we've wasted 2 hours."

Mulder squeezed her hand sympathetically. "It wasn't a total waste," he tried to reassure her. "We know that this guy knows something—"

"But he's not sharing, Mulder!" Scully replied in a slightly raised voice. "And who even knows if it would help us find the kids? He didn't seem to think so, and if he was genuine in how he felt about them, he'd want us to find them. Honestly Mulder, they're probably dead right now."

She knew Mulder agreed that that was most likely, but he didn't say so, and she appreciated that, at least. "We still have plenty of evidence coming through, too, which might give us some direction," he tried again.

She shrugged noncommittally as they entered the heaven-like reception. "I hate to depend on physical evidence on such a time-sensitive case though, Mulder. You know that these things take forever, even when they're Priority."

"It's already been a few days, so it's possible that we could even hear back today. I'll give the lab a call and find out the status—"

He was interrupted by the sound of 500 stiletto heels clicking across the Carrera marble towards them, and they looked up to see the PR woman making her way towards them again. Her face was puzzled.

"Larry just blew through here, white as a sheet. What's going on? Is he suspected of anything? He ignored me when I called his name."

"We can't discuss the case," Scully replied, assuming an apologetic expression, but then she suppressed a flash of annoyance when Ms. Laurence's beautiful wide eyes appealed to Mulder for an explanation. Even more irritating was the way his eyes seemed to suddenly light up.

"I can tell you this," he seemed to confide in her. "Dr. Mitfuhlend wasn't nearly as helpful as we'd hoped."

"Really?" she asked, raising her perfectly arched brows in concern. "I find that somewhat surprising. It seems to me that he would do anything he could to find out what happened to Geoff and his family."

"No. . ." Mulder shook his head. "He wouldn't even answer some of most basic questions."

Ms. Laurence's eyes widened with intrigue, and Scully began to cotton on to what Mulder was doing and why he'd lit up when he saw her. She hid a grin; her partner was brilliant.

"Well, if they're basic, maybe I can be of assistance?" she offered brightly, falling right into Mulder's trap.

"Ahhm," he said, looking reluctant, "I don't know. . ."

Ms. Laurence _actually_ batted her eyelashes at her partner, and Scully would have rolled her eyes if she wasn't so amused by Mulder's manipulations.

"Well, they _were_ pretty simple questions I have about the company," Mulder said, seeming to waiver, and she leaned in a bit, "but I'm not sure how 'in the know' you are."

"Oh Agent Mulder," she said assuredly, "if it's about the company, I know it all. I am the director of PR, after all."

"Well okay then," Mulder allowed, as if giving her a special treat. She, too, seemed to take it as such, and it was clear that this woman couldn't stand being out of any loop whatsoever.

Mulder had seemed to pick up on that from the outset and fully exploited it, to Scully's total admiration. She was vaguely aware that she was now gazing at him in unguarded love and respect, but didn't care. Ms. Laurence was too entranced herself to notice, anyway.

"Do you know what the 'P' in P-Works stands for?" he asked, going in for the kill.

After a pregnant pause: "Oh. . .that?" her demeanor suddenly changed, and she twittered nervously. _Well done, my love_, Scully thought. Ms. Laurence's reaction was paydirt.

"Do you?" Mulder affected a skeptical expression, as if he didn't believe she actually did.

"I _know_," she insisted, but still seemed to hesitate.

"And don't tell me it's Physics, because I know it's not."

"Well. . ." she said, now looking guiltily off to the side. "Well yes, that's what we usually tell people. In fact, only a few of us in the company knew the truth. He didn't even tell me himself, actually," she admitted. "I learned it from a member of his team, Eli Williams. We were dating at the time." She blushed prettily. "Eli made me promise to never tell anyone else, and I haven't, though I could never understand why Geoff was so intensely private about it. But now that he's dead I guess it won't hurt—and if it can actually help somehow, then—"

"So what does it stand for?" Scully prompted impatiently. The woman Scully had initially perceived as ever-polished had become so flustered that she had forgotten to say.

"Right, sorry." She blushed again. "It's named after Geoff's younger brother, Pete—Petey. For some reason he's dedicated the entire company to him, in his honor. But like I said, I don't know why he didn't like for people to know that. And neither did Eli, for that matter."

_Geoff Love has a brother?_ Scully felt her heart skip a beat and immediately looked over to Mulder to read his expression. Sure enough, he looked just as astonished as she felt. According to preliminary friend and neighbor interviews conducted by the SFPD and FBI, Geoff didn't have any siblings. But why would Geoff try to hide his younger brother from the majority of the people he knew, while at the same time dedicating his entire, soon-to-be word-famous company to him? It made no sense, and definitely seemed to be a thread that they should pull.

As they drove back to the city, Mulder sped slightly, and Scully could tell that he felt invigorated by this new development.

"Nicely played, Mulder," she told him, referring to how he got what they needed, and he nodded in thanks.

"She just wanted to be helpful, Scully," he said deadpan, but with a current of playful sarcasm underneath, and she smirked.

"Yeah, she wanted to help you right out of your pants," Scully teased, and Mulder shot her a wicked look.

"Luckily I need no assistance in that area anymore."

His expression suddenly turned serious before Scully had time to think of another witty retort. "For Mitfuhlend, the danger wasn't inherent in the fact that the 'P' stood for 'Pete.' But he knew that we'd dig up _who_ the 'Pete' was, and he obviously didn't want us to learn of his existence. He knows something important about him, and that's what he's hiding."

Scully agreed wholeheartedly and nodded. "Right, he must also know why Geoff Love both hid the fact that he had a brother, yet named the company after him too. And for some reason he believes we shouldn't or don't need to know ourselves."

"But I'm betting we _do_ need to know, Scully. Pete Love could be a prime suspect. The second we get back to the city I think we should get all the information we possible can on him, and find out exactly what the deal is. Is he mentally ill? Is he in prison? Recently out of prison? In Rehab?

"And," he continued, continuing to freely-associate, "is it possible that he killed the adults because he blamed Geoff for something, and maybe that 'something' is the secret Dr. Mitfuhlend is guarding? But perhaps he felt the kids were innocent and as their uncle, felt they were under his care? Did the kids even know they had an uncle?"

Scully cut into his thinking-aloud. "You're now doing what I did yesterday, and ignoring the fact that the reason we came out here is because these crimes were committed within locked spaces."

"Maybe if we nail down the 'who,' that will explain the 'how,'" he reasoned, glancing at her from the 101 freeway.

"Well we definitely didn't have much luck going the opposite way. . ." she noted. "We came across the potential 'how' but it didn't lead directly to the 'who.'"

"Unfortunately, no," Mulder agreed. "It appears that P-Works is just as many years back from perfecting Replacement Transference as Zydeknologie. Of course, we'll still want to check with the investors about the progress, but that's how it looks.

"I still don't think we can rule out teleportation as a factor because it's just too much of a coincidence," he hastened to add, "but let's try it this way for a bit."

Scully nodded absently and stared out the window at the blank beige sound wall streaming by, her optimism that they'd recover the kids slipping away just as quickly. Even though they hadn't come away from Silicon Valley empty-handed, too much time had passed. . .just too much. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to forestall a tension headache she could feel coming on.

"I really think we have something here, Scully," Mulder tried to assure her upon hearing the sigh. "I have a good feeling about this one. Geoff Love must have hidden the fact that he had a brother for some reason, and once we find out what that is, I think we'll see everything a little bit more clearly."

"Let's hope," Scully murmured, but meanwhile her headache notched up another level.


	8. Part 7

Two hours later, after driving back up north to the city and grabbing an incredibly hurried late lunch, Mulder and Scully were back on the 13th floor of the San Francisco Federal Building. There, Scully gazed out the window of their makeshift office (apparently it belonged to an agent on maternity leave) and took in the stunning panorama of the western side of the city. Since it was the tallest building in the area, the views were unobstructed, and it was a nice change to feel as if she were on the same plane as the expansive world outside. Normally it was the opposite: it felt as if the entire world were bearing down against their tiny office; that they were enduring the same sort of pressure that could transform a lump of carbon into a diamond. And though Mulder was definitely _her_ diamond in the rough, it was refreshing to take a trip to the surface. . . Besides, the case itself was heavy enough.

"Scully?" Mulder was calling, and from his tone she could tell it wasn't the first time. She turned away from the window towards the group of the other agents on the team who were holding a check-in meeting, and raised an eyebrow.

It was clear that they had caught her in a moment of distraction, so Mulder summarized, "Montes, O'Brien, and Jamie say that both Zydek's and Mitfuhlend's alibis checked out. So we essentially agree that they can be ruled out pending further evidence. What're your thoughts?"

Scully nodded her consensus, but couldn't help but think that that should have been a job for SFPD. Couldn't they have been using their time—time that meant everything—running up other leads on the _kidnapping_ case; that is, the _actual_ FBI case? She felt a twinge of frustration towards the absent Agent Park for mismanaging her agents' hours.

"And what you learned down in Sil. Valley, about the brother—that's incredible!" Montes told Scully, and she nodded again.

"I just hope it will actually yield some tangible results," she told them. "So far we've had no shortage of leads, but they've all been unsubstantial or dead ends."

Mulder frowned over at her, but she was too preoccupied with her headache to decipher whether it was in reaction to her apparent negative attitude, or out of concern. She turned her face back towards the window.

"Well we've made a tentative sort of peace with the SFPD chief, so we'll continue to do information sharing," Montes informed them, but when she made no further responses, they seemed to take that as the close of their conference.

Once they had committed to keeping mutually in touch and all filed out, Mulder sank into the desk chair and turned on the monitor. "Okay, Scully," he said a bit over-enthusiastically, clearly trying to break her out of her mood, "let's find out who this Pete Love is."

She grabbed a side chair and wheeled it over to him, but couldn't shake her sense of ennui and foreboding. Sensing it, Mulder gave her a tender look, but said nothing. In the past seven years, she knew that he had developed excellent Scully-reading skills, and could tell when to ask her about how she was feeling. Now was not one of those times, and she was grateful he kept on task.

He opened up NCIC (National Crime Information Center) from the desktop, and typed in his username 'mulderfw' and password, before clicking on the topic of Individuals. In the blank field there he entered Pet Love, in case he was listed under Petie, Petey or Peter, and then sat back and glanced over at Scully. If Pete Love had any sort of criminal or arrest record, they would know about it from this database. If not, though, they'd have to go back to Dr. Mitfuhlend and really press on him, because apparently he was the only one of Geoff's close associates who seemed to know anything _about _the younger brother, besides his mere existence. She hoped that they'd be able to rely on the more reliable information of the NCIC, though.

After several minutes of suspenseful waiting, during which time the computer clicked and whirred as it labored with combing through thousands of national files, an entire list loaded on the screen. About thirty different Pete/Petie/Petey/Peter Loves had made it onto their system, and each one was organized by subtopic, with their date of birth next to their name. Most had been simply arrested and fingerprinted, a few had been involved in violent crimes, two were runaway juveniles, and three were from the crossover database NCMEC (Center for Missing and Exploited Children).

"You want to split these up between the five of us?" Mulder asked, unhappily taking in all the names, but Scully didn't immediately answer. There was something on the screen that seemed significant, but she couldn't identify what it was exactly, so she continued to stare intently at it.

"Scully—

"Hold on. . ." she murmured, trailing a finger down the screen, until she came to the last category. Then, "Mulder, look!"

She tapped at the first and third names on that section of the list, and Mulder leaned forward, looking to see what she had already noticed.

"Those two have the same DOB," he observed a second later.

"Right," Scully said, feeling some of the headache lift slightly. "Same boy?"

Mulder swiveled around in his chair to raise his eyebrows at her, but she just gestured impatiently for him to get on with it, and so he clicked on the first link.

**Peter Andrew Love**

**Case Type: Endangered Missing **

**DOB: Dec 08, 1959 **

**Sex: Male **

**Missing Date: Sept 12, 1969 **

**Age: 9 **

**Race: White **

**Height: 4'7" (140 cm) **

**Weight: 73 lbs (33 kg) **

**Hair Color: Blonde **

**Eye Color: Blue**

**Missing City: Half Moon Bay **

Halfway through skimming the page, Scully exclaimed, "According to the background info Montes provided, Half Moon Bay is where Geoff Love grew up!" Mulder nodded quickly, and they continued reading.

**Missing State: CA **

**Missing Country: United States **

**Case Number: NCMC109512 **

**Circumstances: Abducted by Callum Van Hoek. Recovered Sept 15, 1969. Suffered injuries and sexual abuse. Van Hoek sentenced to 40 years in prison.**

Mulder turned to share a look with Scully, and with one exchange, they both knew what the other was thinking. Pete Love had survived a harrowing experience of kidnapping and pedophilia when he was a child, and while that was tragic for him, unfortunately the victims of childhood molestation often became abusers themselves in adulthood. Scully didn't want to jump to any conclusions based on this small entry alone, but nonetheless her blood chilled in her veins when she thought of the missing Love kids, and what they might be experiencing.

"Go to the second entry," she prompted, slightly hoarse, and without a word Mulder clicked on the second posting for a Peter Love, DOB: Dec 08, 1959.

**Peter Andrew Love**

**Case Type: Endangered Missing **

**DOB: Dec 08, 1959 **

**Sex: Male **

**Missing Date: January 11, 1971 **

**Age: 12 **

**Race: White **

**Height: 4'11" (150 cm) **

**Weight: 90 lbs (41 kg) **

**Hair Color: Blonde **

**Eye Color: Blue**

**Missing City: Half Moon Bay **

**Missing State: CA **

**Missing Country: United States **

**Case Number: NCMC109758 **

**Initially classified as 'Endangered Runaway,' but witness testimony by the elder brother (Geoffrey Love) indicates abduction. Previously abducted by Callum Van Hoek (prison sentence concludes in 2009 – See case # NCMC109512). Possibly taken by an associate. **

"He was taken again. . ." Scully said slowly, leaning back in her chair and looking at the entry. Her heart was breaking for this unknown lost boy who disappeared decades ago, but also for the children in their current case. Now that they knew Peter Love couldn't be suspect, they were no closer to finding them.

"Maybe that's why Geoff Love didn't like to talk about having a brother, didn't like just casually bringing him up to friends," Mulder mused slowly, also staring at the words. "It was too painful to discuss." He paused, then: "I can relate. . ."

Scully hesitated for a moment, then leaned over the desk to give him a questioning look. "You never suppressed Saman—"

"Yeah I did, Scully," he interrupted, briefly meeting her eyes, then looking back at the screen. "Before you knew me, before I found the X-Files, I was the same way. I never told anyone I'd had a sister."

Scully sat back slightly again, surprised by this sudden mid-day revelation (was he trying to make her feel better by opening up a bit emotionally himself?). The admission itself, though, was not entirely shocking, knowing what she did about his adolescence and young adult life.

"I ran away from it. . ." he elaborated, vocalizing her thoughts. "Went to the UK, then threw myself into work and avoided any real personal life. And even though I went sort of the opposite direction after the regression hypnotherapy —and then _everybody_ knew about her and her abduction—it's just different sides of the same coin, Scully. Just different ways of coping."

"But he named his company after him—"

"Yeah," Mulder nodded, then looked down at his hands. Scully took one of them and he finally looked into her eyes. "There's no way you can ever totally incise someone out like that, especially if you saw it," he explained. "It's impossible, as much as you might try. For me, it was horrible dreams. Along with finding the X-files, it was what made me really decide to do the regression work. I'm guessing for him, that was his very personal way of honoring and remembering his brother, and keeping him in his life in some way."

Scully nodded slowly, appreciating Mulder's openness with her, and his sharing of something so personal, and for a moment she let herself ignore the pressures of the case. Besides the brief reference to Starlight back in DC, he hadn't mentioned Samantha at all since finding out about her death, and she was relieved to see him able to open up now in such a calm and matter-of-fact way.

"Mul—" she started, wanting to let him know that, but he was already off to his next thought.

"We should get a little more background on these abductions, and I'm sure we can get the other guys to help us out on that. . . Like what exactly _did_ Geoff see the second time around? Did they have a list of suspects at the time?" He saw her make a face at that, and correctly read it as her frustration over a complete lack of actionable evidence. "I know, it's not as much as we'd hoped for—"

"That seems to be the trend, here," she sighed, refocusing her attention on the case now, too. "Totally plausible lines of investigation that seem to lead to no where."

He nodded sympathetically, but pointed out: "But this family has a significant history with child abductors; for some reason Geoff's younger brother was particularly targeted. It's certainly possible that someone is coming back for more."

"But why?" Scully challenged, not necessarily to antagonize him, but to act as Devil's Advocate. "Why now, over thirty years later?"

His eyes went into soft-focus for a second, and through them, she could practically see a thousand thoughts flying around in that beautiful mind of his, putting together connections, discarding unlikely scenarios, then forging stronger ones. Then, after only a few seconds, his eyes suddenly snapped into focus, and even seemed to have acquired a keen gleam.

"Scully, we need to get the prison record of Callum Van Hoek," he told her, pushing back from the desk and standing up from the chair so fast that he sent it spinning.

"The first abductor?" she asked, grabbing her suit jacket as he nodded and headed to the door. "The one who's in prison until 2009?"

"C'mon Scully!" she heard him call, already in the hall.

He made an abrupt stop just as she caught up with him, and Scully saw that they were in front of Agent Park's office. Well. This was obviously something rather significant if he was going straight to the SAC, and even though she didn't know what he was thinking yet, her heart started to pound in hope and anticipation. Could it be that he'd found an inroad through their dead ends after all?

He rapped sharply on her door, and after a muffled, "O_kay_!" pushed it open and strode in to stand at the center of the room.

"Do you have any contacts in the BoP?" Mulder asked her, without preamble, and Agent Park stared at him for a moment, either shocked at his behavior, or trying to get her bearings. It was very possibly both.

"The Bureau of Prisons?" she asked nonplussed, her hand poised with a pen half an inch above some paperwork.

"Or the Parole Commission," Mulder said impatiently. "I just need to you make one quick phone call."

_Ohhh_, Scully thought. _Of __**course**_.

"Before I make any call, I need you to explain what's so urgent!" she said, exasperated at being so out of the loop, especially considering she was SAC.

_It's par for the course with Mulder, so get used to it_, Scully thought.

"Have you learned something, Agent Mulder?" she pressed.

"Look, there's no time to explain the background now," Mulder said, raising his voice impatiently. "I just need to know if a certain prisoner has been given parole."

Agent Park's temper seemed to flair at Mulder's refusal to answer her; she became rigid in her seat, and Scully saw that if she didn't step in, they might lose an important resource in her.

"Please, Agent Park," Scully interceded. "We're running out of time for these kids—if we haven't already—and we need to know if this suspect had access to them."

Park's hard gaze flickered from Mulder to Scully, and there it softened somewhat, but her mouth remained a thin line. "Very well, Agent Scully," she yielded. "I do have a contact at the Parole Commission, as a matter of fact. I'm sure he can call up the record in just a moment. It won't take _long_," she finished, and for a moment she betrayed her aloof coolness to glare at Mulder.

"So which county is it?" she asked, grabbing another sheet of paper and preparing to jot down notes.

"Actually, it's Federal," Mulder clarified, and she set her pen down immediately.

"Agent Mulder, are you _not_ aware that federal offenses no longer qualify for parole?" she asked, aggravated, but Mulder was shaking his head.

"The Parole Commission remains the parole board for those who committed a federal offense before November 1, 1987," he corrected, and once again Scully marveled at the seemingly-limitless archive of information stored in his mind, ready to access at a moment's notice for any subject. "And this suspect was incarcerated for a 1969 crime, so he applies," he concluded.

Agent Park picked her pen back up, but didn't lift her gaze from the paper. "What's the name?" she asked in a deliberately measured voice, clearly deeply peeved to have been contradicted by Mulder. The fact that she was already irritated with him only made it worse.

Scully quickly spelled it out for her, and she jotted it down on the side of the paper in front of her, then flicked through her rolodex and picked up her phone.

"Yes, this is Carol Park with the FBI," she said to the person on the other end. "Is Edward Reilly available? Mm-hmm, SAC Park.

"Ed! Great, I got in touch with you," she said, a few moments later. "I'm working on a kidnapping case, you may have heard of it on the news. . .right. Anyway 2 of my—2 agents that are helping out with the case have a suspect in mind, but it's contingent on if he's been released on parole or not. . .yeah, exactly, pre-'87," she told him seemingly concentrated on her pad of paper, and Scully cast Mulder slight smirk .

"The surname is Van Hoek. V-A-N space H-O-E-K. First name Callum, C-A-L-L-U-M. . .okay great. Thanks Ed."

"He's looking into their e-files," she told them, finally glancing up for a moment, and studying their taut faces. After several long and suspenseful moments, Park finally seemed to hear the voice back on the other end.

"Oh you _did_? Fantastic." _He found the file_, she mouthed to them from the receiver. "Yes, it's quite an unusual name, so that's good, because I don't think we have DOB for narrowing down results; we'd have to track that down, too. . ." Mulder shifted weight from one foot to the other impatiently, and Park seemed to take the hint and asked, "So what does it say?" but shot an irritated look in his general direction.

"Mm-hmm. . .mm-hmm. . ." She wrote something down, and Scully looked over to Mulder and raised her eyebrows. He echoed the expression, and they both stepped closer to the SAC's desk. "This occurred three nights ago. . . Oh really? Okay," Park went on, and Scully's stomach tightened in anxious anticipation, and she tried to read what Park had written from upside-down.

"Do you have that, too, then? Excellent." Park jotted something else down as well, and Scully strained forward. "Well thanks so much Ed, and if you need anything from our end, let me know. . . .Right, the Federal Charity Campaign benefit? Yep, I'll be there. . .Okay, see you then."

Scully was practically having heart palpitations by the time Park finally hung up the phone, though she managed to keep her cool façade maintained as always. She had to clench her jaw rather harder than normal to prevent herself from demanding immediate answers from the SAC, though. She glanced over at Mulder and he looked quite on edge, as well. Park's next words could be the break they were waiting for. . .

"So," Park said briskly, "I have some excellent news." She paused to inhale through her nose, then took a moment to look them each full-on in the eyes. "Van Hoek is indeed out on parole, as of just a week ago. . .you were correct about that, Agent Mulder. He wasn't scheduled for any mandatory support or parole meetings, so as of now, his whereabouts that night are unaccounted-for. So. . .I'm not sure how you made this connection, and I'll need to know all about it soon of course, but for now go ahead and bring him in for questioning. I have his registered address right here."

* * *

"Released just a week ago!" Mulder said, smacking the wheel of the rental car as they sped off towards the Hunter's Point neighborhood, a run-down, neglected, and somewhat isolated area of San Francisco. Apparently this was the location of Van Hoek's new home.

Scully nodded enthusiastically, feeling her heart flutter in anticipation. This was the best, most solid lead they'd had yet. They'd notified SFPD, and they were sending squad cars and paramedics to the scene, just in case they needed backup, and medical attention for the kids. They were to wait for the agents' cue though, so as not to tip him off before they arrived.

"Van Hoek had Peter Love for several days before he managed to escape," Mulder said, going over things aloud. "Since he hadn't killed him during that time, he must have formed some sort of attachment for him. Unfortunately, kids used as only sex objects are almost always disposed of pretty quickly. Maybe in his twisted mind, he believed it was some sort of love—he might've watched him for a long time, developing feelings, before he finally made the grab."

Scully nodded him on, fascinated by the developing profile.

"But Peter 'betrays' him, as he sees it, and he's sent off to prison for what will be nearly the rest of his life. Then, he learns that someone else has apparently moved in on 'his' boy, so he'd probably lost his chance to be with him forever. He spends years and years thinking about this, obsessing, working up his rage: not only that it's Peter's fault that he's incarcerated, but that he'll never 'have' him again. Finally when he is released, that pent-up rage needs to go somewhere."

He glanced over at Scully from behind the wheel. "He uses his first few days of freedom to find Geoff," he continued theorizing. "Maybe he looked his name up online (because I'm betting he'd have definitely remembered the brother), and found the same articles on him that we did, and used them to track him down. If he couldn't take revenge on Peter, or possess him himself, he decided to take it out on the next best thing: the family."

"The bodies did display an incredible amount of rage," Scully agreed. "That much was evident."

"Yeah. And he could have it both ways," Mulder proposed. "He'd get his revenge, and he could also fulfill the other thing he'd been obsessing over in prison: his compulsion to molest children. And with Peter's niece and nephews, no less."

Scully grimaced, hoping that the Love children hadn't been sexually assaulted, but knowing that it was a distinct possibility. "And the locked—"

Mulder shook his head immediately, before she could even finish the sentence. "No, I have no theory as to how he managed to get out of the locked room, nor how he managed to grab all three kids. Maybe he had an accomplice there—someone he met in prison. But I do know that the profile seems to fit, so he's our most viable suspect yet."

Mulder's phone chirped, and he picked it up and said several 'yeahs' and 'OKs' in a row before hanging up again. "SFPD is in place around the corner," he told Scully, pulling off the 101 freeway onto their exit. "So we can go ahead and knock on his door and we'll call them if we need them. We're also to notify them just before we go in, and if they don't get a check-in call from us after five minutes, they're also coming in."

Now off the exit, they drove through narrow streets lined with rundown, peeling single story row houses and scrubby brown front yards. In between junky and rusted old cars sat an occasional Mercedes or brand-new Cadillac, speaking to the drug problem that dogged the area.

"Look out for Middle Point Road, and that's a right," Scully told him, holding the directions in her hands, and they both peered up at the passing street signs, until they came to it, and made the turn. Now it was only a matter of coming upon the apartment complex, Hunters View, apparently a notoriously awful place. Agent Park had wrinkled her nose in distaste when she'd handed the directions over to them, and now that they were making their approach, Scully could see why. The building loomed up in front of them, crumbling and barracks-style. Broken glass lay scattered on the grounds, plywood boards covered dozens of windows and doors, and scrawled graffiti plastered every surface.

As they pulled up to the front, they shared a worried look at the groups of people of all ages milling around in the shoddy central plaza. If these bored-looking men were looking for some mid-day excitement and chose to hassle them, the noise could easily alert Van Hoek. Scully warily stepped out of the car and joined up with Mulder on the other side, and a few people shouted a grab-bag of sneers, catcalls, complaints, and friendly welcomes, but no one approached them, or followed them when they started looking for Van Hoek's apartment, D-307.

As soon as they were hidden from sight from the loiterers in small alley between two buildings, they paused for a moment and checked their guns' magazines.

"You good?" Mulder asked Scully with a touch of concern in his voice, after he shoved his back in with a click. She nodded her head back at him, with a small tight smile on her face. At one time the concern would have irritated her, but now she mostly found it affirming; she knew it came out of his feelings for her, not any doubts about her ability to handle something.

Scully looked up at the corners of the building on either side of the narrow path to see a large rusted 'B' fixed to the side of one, and a 'C' on the other. She started walking again, towards Building 'D,' and Mulder fell into step beside her.

"How 'bout you?" she murmured, making her way carefully around a putrid puddle, where what appeared to be raw sewage was bubbling up through grates in the cement.

"Fine," he concurred. "But I'll be even better in a few minutes after we get this son of a bitch." Scully looked up at him and saw that his eyes were hardened flints, and she knew then that he was just as anxious to find the children as she was. She shouldn't be surprised—they were usually in tune like this. It was what made her as 'good' as could be expected going into such a potentially stressful situation; what actually helped to soothe ragged nerves. Her partner had her back, and they wanted the same exact thing.

At Building D Mulder pulled out his cell and dialed a number, then dropped his chin and said into it quietly, "We're in place. We're about to proceed to the suspect's apartment. So go ahead and start the clock." After those brief words he clicked off and replaced the phone into his pocket, and they raised their guns level and made their way up the stairs, step by step, checking in front of them and behind them carefully so they were aware of their surroundings at all times. Scully took in the black mold creeping around some of the crumbling walls, and felt a stab of compassion for all the people who had to live with not only with the filth of fungus and untreated waste, but also the human filth of child molesters like Van Hoek.

Suddenly, just as they rounded onto the landing for the second floor, an elderly woman and a tiny child wearing a big floppy red hat popped out of a door in a rush, and practically collided into them. The woman's eyes instantly rounded like full moons and she inhaled as if to shriek. But before she could even open her mouth, Mulder had gently hustled her and the toddler back inside and shut their door, in one fluid motion. They quickly met each other's eyes and shared a silent exchange (_"Good job Mulder, that could've been a problem." "Thanks, though I was in the right place at the right time." "Okay, you ready to keep going?" "Yeah, let's go."_), before continuing their slow, cautious crawl up towards the final landing.

Even though Mulder was right next to her, and she was grounded by the knowledge that he'd be level-headed, cool, and skilled in this confrontation, her heart started to pound with the inevitable adrenaline of such a situation. She felt confident that they made the best team possible when facing down a suspect with guns drawn, but there was still no way to know how it would end. Tiny beads of sweat were condensing on Mulder's brow too, she saw, as they moved stealthily along the hallway—and it wasn't a warm day. If Van Hoek was indeed the person who had committed the Love crimes, he was a terribly dangerous and most likely erratic man.

They were at D-313, working their way down in numbers, moving steadily down towards the end of the asphalt walkway, when Mulder suddenly stiffened up. A fraction of a second later, Scully also saw it, and it plunged her heart into ice and seemed to confirm that her greatest fear for the children had come true.

Twenty yards down, just where she'd place D-309, several long scarlet fingers of blood were trickling out from beneath a painted metal door.

After just a second to process what he was seeing, Mulder took action, and got on the phone with nearby SFPD for backup and medical support. Meanwhile, a multitude of different scenarios raced through Scully's head, all of them nightmarish.

Guns now raised into a ready-to-shoot position, Scully followed Mulder closely at a run those last few yards, and once they reached the ugly, battered door they both drew themselves flat up against either side. Mulder lifted his left arm and with his tightened fist he pounded on it. '

"Callum Van Hoek!" he shouted against it. "FBI!"

Not a sound. He pounded again.

"Callum Van Hoek, open this door immediately or we're coming in!"

Still, nothing. But the blood continued to spread outward in dark but glistening rivulets.

"Break down the door, Mulder," Scully told him, breathless with anxiety, and he nodded at her shortly. Grabbing the sides of the doorway firmly, he lifted up his leg and threw all his weight behind a savage kick right above the doorknob, and the metal crunched and groaned, but was designed to take worse beatings than that. Mulder grunted and tried again, aiming all his strength into the same spot, and this time the door clattered inward in a screech of steel, and the darkness in the room suddenly rushed out and seemed to suck the sunlight out of the landing.

As soon as he had known that the door was going to break in, he had ducked back behind the wall in case Van Hoek was planning an ambush, but there was still no sound from within. Scully looked into his eyes, her blood roaring in her ears, and watched closely as he nodded once, twice, three times, and then they both spun into the room with perfect choreography. He crouched low, but aimed up, while she swept her arm in a wide arc into the room at waist-height.

"FBI!" she shouted. "Come out with your hands up!" Though those words had been yelled hundreds of times in childhood games, decades ago, they weren't nearly as fun or cool when the situation was real, and your life was potentially at risk.

"If you're hurt and can't move, make some noise!" she added, slightly shakily as she noticed the trail of crimson that lead up to the front door and then back into the dark of the room.

"We need light," Mulder mumbled, and he straightened from his crouch to run a hand along his side of the wall. Scully did the same with hers, making sure to keep her gun trained on the interior, just in case. The adrenaline hadn't subsided at all; if anything her anxiety had ramped up at the sight of all that blood, and she could feel her heart laboring hard in her chest.

Mulder must have found the switch, because suddenly the cave-like room was illuminated by a greasy-looking, weak, yellow light that made the blood trail seem even more garish and grotesque.

Scully looked desperately around the room for signs of children, but all she saw were mismatched, threadbare furniture in cheap, synthetic materials, a few chip bags and beer cans littered about, and a lone suitcase with a few meager belongings spilling out of it. It looked as if Van Hoek hadn't even unpacked since getting out of the penitentiary—or perhaps he'd started to pack to go on the run, but had decided that he didn't have time and took off light.

Mulder had now entered the room and was methodically sweeping through it, his brow furrowed and his eyes intense. Like a ragged, bloody path, the trail lead through a small side door, possibly a bathroom, but before they could rush in to see who had been hurt or killed, they had to clear the room to ensure that they didn't become the next victims.

"CLEAR," Mulder called just then from his side of the dingy studio, and a moment later she echoed him. Immediately, they moved like one fluid entity to the interior door and yanked it open, guns thrust into a small chamber that did turn out to be a bathroom. There, they both inhaled sharply. Scully had not expected this at all, and from Mulder's expression, she guessed that neither had he. Who could have done this?

Lying in a slowly growing puddle of blood from a series of stab wounds to the abdomen, with one eyelid swollen shut from the attack, and the other black eye staring blankly at the wall, was an old, old man with a deformed hand and few teeth. He would have been completely pitiful if Scully hadn't known how sick he had been. It was Callum Van Hoek.

She bent over to feel for a pulse, but before her finger touched his throat, his entire body jerked, and his one eye focused on her. Suppressing a shudder of revulsion, she rocked back onto her heels and pressed her palms hard into his wounds.

"He came back," the man told her in a croaking, guttural rasp.

"Who did?" she asked him. Though she would normally advise patients to be quiet when so grievously injured, she wanted to know everything this bastard knew before he expired. To Mulder, "Help me out; he's got some stab wounds to his lower abdomen, too."

Mulder didn't bother to hide his disgust, but reholstered his weapon and added pressure to the other injuries.

"It was Peter," Van Hoek screeched, and Scully shook her head in disgust.

"Oh great, he's hallucinating," Scully muttered. Now they'd never get anything out of him.

"NO!" Van Hoek insisted harshly, his voice suddenly much stronger. "Peter was here. He did this to me. . .I deserved it." The old man began to weep, and salty tears mingled with blood, and red streaks dripped down his face. "But it _was_ him. I always knew he'd come back."

"Peter Love?" Mulder asked loudly, leaning across Van Hoek to look into his eye, and he nodded and sobbed harder.

"I—I turned him into a monster," Van Hoek wailed thickly. "Now he's a monster just like me. _Just_ like me. He even had my deformity." He weakly tried to lift up his hand, whose fingers were fused together and crooked over like a single drawn claw. "Now no one will love him just like no one loved me, even if he has the word Love in his name."

Scully clenched her teeth in fury at his rantings, and then interrupted. "Where are Peter's niece and nephews?" she demanded, playing the bad cop to Mulder's sympathetic one. "What did you do with the Love children? Where are they?!"

Van Hoek stared up at her, uncomprehending, and she was so frustrated that she had to physically restrain herself from knocking the back of his head onto the hard tile floor and helping him along in his death.

"I bet _Peter_ has them," he gurgled at last, a glint of knowing coming into his eye. Then he repeated, "He's a monster now, just like me. He really is. A monster."

"God _damn_ it, Mulder!" Scully cried, looking up at her partner to vent her frustration, and he shook his head at her. "He's lost it. We're no closer to finding the kids now that we were before we even got on the plane!"

She looked down with repugnance at the old man, who was immersed in his own world of pain, and it was as if the intense malice she felt for him was his last straw, because suddenly his eyes squeezed shut and he gave a huge rasping wheeze, then began to tremble violently from head to toe. Scully lifted one blood-soaked hand from his chest wounds and pressed them to his throat.

"He's gone into cardiac arrest," she informed Mulder, and cast what she knew would be a futile look around the room for a home defibrillator kit. But then, just as she was about to start CPR, they both heard a commotion in the doorway, and they had already spun into firing position before they heard, "POLICE, come out!"

* * *

Scully pushed aggressively through the small crowd of neighbors that had gathered around the ambulance to clear a path for the stretcher, since Van Hoek was still clinging to life and needed a trauma unit as soon as possible. She didn't see how he could possible survive those wounds, especially at his age, but she hoped he did, despite her severe distaste for him. If he lived, maybe they could question him about his attacker when he was a bit more rational, and not going on about some former victim who disappeared thirty years ago.

"I'm sorry we didn't find the kids, Scully," Mulder told her a few minutes later on their way to the hospital, after an unusually long period of silence.

"Me too," she answered, but didn't let herself dwell on the thought. That wouldn't lead to anything positive or useful.

"But. . ." he said, glancing into her eyes in the rearview mirror, "I'm questioning whether Van Hoek ever did have them. . ."

"Maybe he didn't, but maybe he did," Scully replied flatly. "Maybe Peter's second abductor struck again." She tossed him a sarcastic look to let him know she wasn't serious, but he made a thoughtful expression as if mulling it over. She knew he didn't mean it, though—he'd been going another direction when he started the conversation.

"Okay, so who _does_ have them then, Mulder?" she challenged. "He was our best, most realistic suspect yet. I mean, he got out of prison just prior to our double crime! Maybe. . .maybe the kids attacked him and fled," she said, casting out at anything now, grasping at straws.

"Didn't you happen to notice, though?" Mulder asked, in a low, urgent voice.

She averted her eyes out the window and didn't answer, but she knew exactly what he was talking about.

The door had been deadlocked from the inside.

* * *

They rolled into the underground lot for San Francisco General after another ten minutes, and Scully made a beeline for the trauma unit, but when she didn't see him being unloaded, she rushed down the hallway, looking for a sign of a bloodied old man. To her great frustration though, there was no indication that he'd arrived, and a nurse she asked confirmed that he hadn't come in yet. Cursing, she turned to head back outside when she nearly collided with Mulder, who was coming in, tailed by one of the EMTs who'd arrived on the scene at the Hunters' View Apartments.

As soon as he saw her, he reached out for her and grasped her forearm bracingly. Immediately, she knew there wasn't any good news.

"He's dead, Scully," he told her gently, his hazel eyes warm with concern and compassion.

"Old dude was a goner basically as soon as we got him in the bus," the EMT elaborated for her, and she nodded at everything he said, though a buzzing sound was taking over her brain. "We tried it all but he was flat-lining for just too long. Doctor called it on the pavement without even going inside, about twenty seconds ago."

"Um, okay, thanks," Scully said, and although she knew she sounded overly bright, and her partner gave her a questioning look, the EMT nodded and ambled back out the door. Once he was gone Scully turned back into the hospital and just walked and walked with Mulder at her heels, until she reached a set of chairs, where she immediately flopped down.

"We're out of leads, Mulder," she told him as she pushed her hands through her hair. "That was out last, best chance." Her brows furrowed and lips curled suddenly as she remembered the circumstances around the last time she'd told him something similar, after they'd failed at In Vitro Fertilzation a few months previously, and a few tears squeezed out from her tightly screwed eyes before she could master control of herself again. She moved to angrily brush them away, but Mulder grabbed her wrist, and in a totally uncharacteristic and abnormal move when they were out publicly on a case, he put his arms around her and drew her close, then kissed her first on the forehead and then on the lips, lingeringly.

It worked. The surprise and delight at his touch managed to help her restore herself, and she even managed a small smile. Just as she was about to lift a hand to brush some hair from his eyes, though, her phone chirped.

Annoyed at the interruption, she glanced down at the caller ID, but it was an unknown number.

Mulder raised his eyebrows but she shrugged and answered the call.

"Agent Scully?" a man's voice asked, sounding hesitant, and Scully pressed one finger to her ear to block out the flurry of noisy activity on her end.

"Yes?" she asked. "Who's this?" The voice seemed familiar to her in its slightly nervous pitch and reedy delivery, and she knew it would come to her in an instant.

"It's Larry. Uh, Dr. Mitfuhlend," the voice said, just as she'd identified his voice herself. "Look, I called the San Francisco FBI office and someone named Agent Park gave me this number."

"Dr. Mitfuhlend. . ." Scully repeated with a slightly raised voice, and Mulder, who had been watching, immediately leaned in over her to put his ear against her phone as well.

"Right. Look," he said again, seemingly as if to steel himself for what he was about to say, and Mulder and Scully exchanged a look of furrowed eyebrows. "I just, um, wanted to apologize for earlier today. You caught me at a bad moment. Now that Geoff's dead, the company is mine, I guess, and I'm just not ready for that kind of responsibility, not ready to show the type of leadership and direction that he did. Um, I guess I was just caught up in all of that."

"Okay. . ." Scully said as she shared another look with her partner. "Sir. . . why are you telling me this?" She clarified: "What's the _real_ reason you're calling?"

There was a long and pregnant silence, and Scully could practically see his large Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed and broke out into a light sweat.

"I. . .wasn't entirely truthful," he finally said in a thin voice. "I didn't know if I could trust you."

"And now you think can?" Scully prompted, as Mulder nodded.

"As soon as you left I did some digging on you and your partner, Agent Mulder," he explained. "Saying I'm shocked and amazed would be an incredible understatement. I can't believe that you're the agents they sent out to me, of all people. Seeing who you are made me do a lot of reflection, and I realize that I need to see you again, and explain everything. Maybe it _can_ help Winnie, Jon, and Mikie. I need to at least try." Finally, his ramble came to an end, and the two agents stared at each other in amazement.

"First of all, what do you mean, 'who we are'?" Scully finally asked. Half a dozen questions were pushing forward in her mind, and from Mulder's impatient body language, he was experiencing the same thing.

"You know, the _X-Files_," he said in a low undertone, as if afraid someone nearby would hear him.

"Does this have to do with Peter Love?" Scully heard Mulder whisper in her ear, and she repeated the question to the scientist.

The shocked silence at the other end of the phone seemed to answer his question, and Mulder nodded at her knowingly.

At last his voice came back, even smaller, "How did you find out about Peter? I thought I was the only person who knew about him outside of the family."

"No, someone else from your team knew, and it wasn't long before it got around," Scully explained. "So it wasn't long before _we_ found out."

There was an additional period of silence from the other end of the line, and Scully prompted, "Is that what you wanted to tell us?" Another long moment passed. "Hello?"

Then the scientist suddenly blurted out: "But you _don't_ know the important part, the thing that Geoff confided in me for some reason way back at the start of our partnership. I now think you're the only people in the world who might believe me, just as he said I was the only person in the world who'd believe him. Other people might have known he'd had a brother, but they _didn't_ know this." He paused, during which time Scully looked up into Mulder's face, which was becoming alive with the same energy that had imbued it when Van Hoek had given him his final words. Suddenly Larry continued, this time in a stronger and emphatic voice, "_Please_. Meet me as soon as you can, in an hour if possible. I need to tell someone—I've wasted too many hours keeping it to myself since Geoff died. And I need to feel like I did everything I could to help his children."

Mulder nodded, then mouthed _where?_ to Scully, and she shook her head in agreement.

"We can meet you in an hour, just tell us where," she told the scientist, and he made an audible sigh of relief.

"It's called The Ramp. It's a small restaurant near the docks in the warehouse district. Just off Third St. at Mariposa. I'll be in a booth in the back. In an hour. . ." He took another deep breath. "I have so much to tell you."


	9. Part 8

The sun was sinking in the sky and the light was growing dusky when Mulder pulled into a curbside parking place in the desolate and industrial area of Central Basin. All Scully could see were vacant lots filled with dried brown weeds and hulking warehouses, and the dark waters of the bay a hundred feet away. The one exception to this grim urban landscape was right across the street. She took in the brightly-painted wood clapboard sides, the strings of twinkling colored lights, and the small palm trees in large pots flanking the entrance and exchanged a look with Mulder at the unlikely scene. He shrugged and walked towards it, and Scully followed, turning over and over again in her mind what she might expect. Did Geoff have a secret life that only Mitfuhlend knew about? Had they indeed succeeded with the experiment? Did Mitfuhlend have any insight as to who took the kids after-all? Given that he'd told her on the phone that she and Mulder might be "the only people in the world who might believe" him, he must think it was something supernatural, unexplainable, or metaphysical. What could that be though, she pondered, at the same time feeling giddy that she would know shortly.

They walked under some hanging wisteria into a dark and kitschy dive restaurant, and it took a moment for Scully's eyes to adjust, before she noticed the slight and reedy scientist at a booth in the corner, with his skinny arm raised. She touched Mulder's arm and tilted her head towards the guy, and they crossed the room and slid onto the same side of the vinyl-upholstered booth, across from Larry Mitfuhlend. His face broke into a self-conscious half grin, though there was still anxious tension around his eyes.

"You came," he said in relief, and Scully nodded.

"With the line you dangled over the phone about having so much to tell us, and that we'd be the only ones who'd ever believe you, whose curiosity wouldn't be piqued?" Mulder asked, squinting at Mitfuhlend as though assessing him again.

"Well, I hope you do," he said nervously, and swallowed hard so that his large Adam's apple bobbed in his thin throat. "I have no idea. But it's the truth."

Before he could continue, they were interrupted by a young and muscular young waiter, who gave the table a half-hearted wipe with a dirty moist rag, then leaned back and asked about drinks. Scully and Mulder ordered water. Larry Mitfuhlend ordered a house white.

When the young guy left, Larry looked down at his hands awkwardly, and a minute or so passed before Mulder shifted impatiently and told him, "You called us here, Larry. What is it that we need to know?"

The man looked terrified, but swallowed again and bobbed his head up and down in acknowledgement. "Umm. . .as you know, I left Hans to join Geoff. . .it was because I knew that with him I could be part of a team that shared a vision, and worked with mutual respect towards that vision. I could tell that I'd be valued as a partner, rather than some lab assistant," he said all in a rush, with barely any space between words.

Scully saw Mulder nodding somewhat hurriedly next to her. They'd already known that.

"Well," Mitfuhlend hastened on, "I guess that Geoff could tell how much I appreciated that, and how much esteem I held for him, because as we worked closely together for several years, he started opening up more and more to me. Late nights, especially, when the rest of the team had gone home and we really felt like we were on the brink of something paradigmatic—"

He was suddenly interrupted by the return of the waiter, who set down the water hard so that it splashed down on the table, then slid the wine towards the scientist.

"At first, he confided in me about his brother. . ." He swirled around the wine then took a long sip. "Which, ah, I guess you two already know about." His eyebrows knit together at that, and he did not look pleased at all. "Well, I thought I was the only one who knew about that, but. . ." A sigh. "But I can say with almost total certainty that he didn't tell anyone this. . ."

He looked up at them, and his eyes widened earnestly. "This is the other thing I've never told anyone—not only out of loyalty, but because I know they wouldn't believe me."

Scully wanted to tell him to spit it out, but didn't want to spook him anymore than he seemed to be already, so she just cocked her head and raised her eyebrow at him instead.

He shook his head and waved his hands like windshield wipers at them. "What you've got to understand is that Geoff didn't even really mean to let it slip. It was really late one night and we'd been working nonstop on this one problem with ions. I guess you could say we were pretty close to exhaustion and delirium, and we were having some pretty ridiculous conversations. So I didn't even believe him at first when he came out with it—I just laughed—but then I saw his expression . . . his face was dead serious. And then he elaborated. It was as if he was venting years' worth of pent up emotion, and it was all just bursting forth. It was pretty overwhelming, actually.

"Then, the next day, he came up to me and made me swear not to tell anyone what he'd said. I asked, 'Why, were you pulling my leg?' but he looked grim and said, 'No, because I was telling you the truth.'

"Now with anyone else, I wouldn't believe," Mitfuhlend confided on, "but with him, I knew it had happened just as he said. Geoff was brilliant but completely sane—not the mad scientist sort. And he had incredible integrity. So I knew it had happened," he repeated again, then laid his fidgeting hands flat on the table and looked each one in the eye as if to assure that he hadn't mistaken his late boss in the gravity and truth of the matter.

Scully wanted to shout, "Knew that _what_ happened?!" since he still hadn't said or given any clue to what this was about, and she could sense Mulder getting ready to prompt him as well, but then he dropped his eyes on his wineglass and took a deep breath.

"So. . .here's what happened. Here's what he told me. . .

"When Geoff was in 8th grade, his family was a wreck. His younger brother had been molested and everyone knew, so he was a pariah at school. Just a few years ago he'd been Mr. Popular, great at sports, smart, charming, so it was hard for him. And he knew he blamed his brother for it, and he's had to live with that guilt. But at the time, he was just ashamed of him, and treated him unfairly. Petey just needed a big brother to look out for him, and support him, but unfortunately I guess Geoff was too immature to comprehend that. If it had happened a few years later, he might have acted otherwise, but he was 13, and he didn't get it."

Scully listened to this all without judgment, but wondered where he was going with this. It sounded like he was setting up a story about a kid who had run away or committed suicide, but then why would they be the only ones who'd believe him?

Mulder, however, said nothing. He sat uncharacteristically quiet and still, waiting for Mitfuhlend to continue.

"They shared a room, and that couldn't have been easy for Geoff either, especially since Petey would frequently wet the bed, and the whole household would be disrupted over it."

Mitfuhlend stopped again, and looked deeply into his wineglass, then took several long sips in a row. During this time, the waiter made his way over to their table to take orders, but Mulder shook his head sharply at him, and he veered away.

"Then," Mitfuhlend finally started again, after one last swallow, "one night, he heard a commotion from the other side of the room, which woke him up. It wasn't totally dark in the room, so he thought that his brother had had another accident, and turned on the bedside lamp, so he tried to cover his head with his pillow and ignore it. But he said he heard odd, unnatural sounds, so he had to look up to see where it was coming from. Then, he saw what was happening."

Scully glanced over quickly at Mulder, whose eyes were wide, and whose mouth was hard, and she knew that he was reliving his own memories too.

Mitfuhlend went on with his story, and Scully visualized the 29-year-old scene as he narrated:

* * *

On the other side of the bedroom, Geoff saw two figures standing against his brother's unmade bed, and in the half-light he could see them struggling and grappling with each other. Each of the two forms grunted and panted as if exerting extreme physical labor, and Geoff's heart started pumping painfully in his chest. He couldn't believe this was happening, _again_, here in their very room. He wanted to cry out, to shout, but he felt rooted to the spot in fear, and he hated himself for it—he was such a _coward_, but he couldn't help it. There was something deeply wrong with this scene, and he could only watch it in mute horror, and pray that it did not see he was awake and come for him next.

He could see that they were roughly the same size, but that's where their similarities ended. One seemed light and youthful while the other seemed heavy and dark, and when he saw that fused, crippled hand, he knew that That Man had come back for his brother. That was how strong his appetite for his brother was, apparently—not even prison could keep him away. At the time, he was sure—he just knew—that the heavier one was Van Hoek, but later, when he could think more clearly, he remembered Van Hoek was in prison. But in that moment, he was just paralyzed in terror, unable to do anything but watch. He saw as two dark holes opened up around each one of them, and from one hole came horrible noises—scraping, unnatural ones, while from the other, a melodious tinkle, and warm light emerged. He later swore that at this point, the lighter, more youthful one finally won dominance over the other one, and shoved him through the hole, which promptly sealed itself back up and vanished. The figure that had triumphed turned to Geoff, who at this point had actually wet his own bed, and he saw that it was his brother. Except it wasn't his brother as he'd known him over the past 2 years, but the one he remembered from Before. Petey's grief and sullenness were gone and he had a radiant grin on his face, and looked carefree and innocent. And then, with one last smile, he waved at Geoff, then hopped lightly through the hole. Then that one also disappeared, and that was the last time he saw his brother.

* * *

When Mitfuhlend finished his narrative he didn't look at them, but continued to look into the depths of his wineglass, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Scully looked over at Mulder, but he was studying Mitfuhlend intently, so she decided to speak up. "And. . .and Dr. Love stood by this? Did you ever talk about it again?"

The scientist glanced up for a moment but then looked quickly down into his glass again. "He did stand by it. Well. . .sometimes he thought he created it all in the trauma of what he could have actually witnessed, but mostly he believes—believed—that he saw what he did, despite how crazy it was."

Larry pursed his lips tightly so that they turned white, and Scully could see him grappling for control as his eyes reddened and grew shiny. Then he took a short breath and leaned forward. "That singular event is what inspired his life's work. After seeing something like that, you never view the world the same again." Scully glanced at Mulder again, but he was looking resolutely ahead at Mitfuhlend, his face blank but set.

"After he saw that," Larry continued breathlessly, "he realized the vast limits to human knowledge, and he knew that it probably wasn't, you know, a demon that he saw, but something that we could eventually come to comprehend. So he made it his lifelong quest to uncover the scientific explanation for what he had witnessed as a boy. He knew it was outside the realm of understanding when he was younger, but he intended to add its explanation to the anthology of knowledge, one day. But now. . ."

As Mitfuhlend trailed off sadly, Scully was left silently astounded: it had been Geoff Love's 'lifelong quest' to find out what had happened to his younger sibling who vanished out of their room when they were kids, but he had gone the route of _science_ to look for an explanation of what had happened, rather than the _paranormal_. It was as if Geoff Love were an exact blend in equal parts of both she and Mulder. She found that absolutely remarkable, and looked over to exchange a meaningful look about this with Mulder, but he was still looking at Mitfuhlend silently, appraisingly.

They all sat around the table in silence for several long moments, digesting what had been said, and when the waiter took advantage of this lull in conversation to take their orders they all just shook their heads at him until he left again.

Scully turned the story over and over in her head. So, according to Dr. Mitfuhlend, Geoff Love had witnessed his brother fighting with someone who looked just like his imprisoned attacker, before they both vanished through—what?—inter-dimensional portals? It was all so fantastical. And though Mulder was the one with psych training, she didn't think it was much of a stretch to consider that Geoff Love had witnessed _something_ that night, but it was so traumatic that he had constructed this fantasy as a response: one in which his brother's attacker was banished forever, and his brother escaped to a happier, innocent place where he could never be hurt again. She burned to know how Mulder would interpret it, and tried to read his expression again, but it was still indiscernible.

"So that's what you were referring to?" Scully asked, since Mulder was remaining silent. "The thing that only we'd believe?"

Larry Mitfuhlend steepled his fingertips against his wine glass, then looked up at her, nodding. "But. . ." he said with a weary sigh, "there's more."

Scully wondered what else there could possibly be, and she felt her eyebrows rising as a reflection.

"This happened recently. . .just last week, in fact. I'm positive that something deeply scared him, and I suspect that it has something to do with what he witnessed as a kid. He had been thrilled, _elated_, as he felt that we were close to a major breakthrough. He was so certain that he was about to discover some key element in our work. . .But then after he stayed late by himself one night, that excitement suddenly vanished, replaced by a very subdued and edgy mood. He said that he'd failed, but I could tell that it was fear and shock he was dealing with, not disappointment."

"What happened next?" Mulder asked, speaking up for the first time, and Scully felt relieved to hear his voice. Whatever mood or funk he'd been in, maybe he was coming out of it now.

"Geoff just said that no matter what, he'd try again, but he wouldn't talk about it any further, which is so unusual (because like I said, we were almost like partners on this project). I think he was trying to imply to me that he wouldn't be discouraged, but I could tell how he really meant it."

"That what he had just seen wasn't going to scare him into giving up his work?" Mulder prompted, and the scientist just nodded, wide-eyed.

"And now he's dead, and so is his wife, and his kids are missing," Mitfuhlend whispered hoarsely. "Maybe if I'd forced him to confide in me. Confronted him with my suspicions. . ." He put the heels of his hands against his eyes and shook his head miserably. "Maybe he'd still be alive," he said between his fingers.

Scully looked down at the table, allowing him a private moment, and considered the additional information. Of course, everything he said reflected his own readiness to believe the truth in Geoff Love's story, and his interpretation of that man's behavior. Perhaps he felt that the incredible work they did, and discoveries they made, validated and proved the existence of that childhood experience, but inspiration could come from _anywhere_—it didn't mean the memory was true.

Just then, Mulder's phone gave a sharp beep, and she raised her head to come out of her thoughts and watch the conversation. He was listening raptly to someone on the other side, and then suddenly he made excited eye contact with her, before telling the other person, "We'll be right there," and hanging up.

"What? What is it?" Scully asked quickly, knowing it had to be something good to get Mulder that expressive. Larry Mitfuhlend looked on nonplussed, as if disbelieving that anything could take away their attention from what he had just confided in them.

"Dr. Mitfuhlend, Agent Scully and I have to get going," he said, turning to the scientist, rather than answering her.

"But-but. . ." he stuttered, still looking jarred and now slightly disgruntled. "What about what I told you?"

Mulder found Scully's eyes and she raised her brows at him questioningly, and she knew he understood that she was asking what the phonecall was about, as clearly as if she has verbalized it.

"We did need to hear that," Mulder assured the scientist, still ignoring her, and she tried to tamp down her impatience. "And it might be the crux of everything. But I'm sorry, we have to go."

Mulder picked up his coat and exchanged a look with Scully as if checking to see if she was on board, and though she had no idea what he was so excited about, she gave Dr. Mitfuhlend a final nod, and grabbed her coat as well.

"Well. . .keep me informed!" she heard him call after them in a wounded, confused voice, and though the images of his story were still imprinted in her mind, and she was still astounded at the thought that Geoff Love had experienced something so similar to Mulder but turned to science, she needed to know what Mulder had just learned over the phone.

As they stepped out of the restaurant and into the night air, she was about to insist upon answers, when he turned to her, his eyes sparking.

"Spill it!" she demanded, and he gave her a small grin and pulled her close against him unexpectedly.

"Mulder?" she asked, trying to regain steadiness after the surprise. He had just been so moody in the restaurant, listening to Dr. Mitfuhlend. What _had_ he heard over the phone?

"That was Montes, Scully," her partner told her, and pressed the car's lock release on his keychain. "And a lot has gone down in the past hour."

Mulder released her, and Scully climbed into the passenger's side, but maintained eye contact with him, and waited for the kicker. She didn't have to wait long.

"The crime lab has gotten a hit off DNA found in both rooms—DNA that doesn't match any of the victims nor anyone else who might have had cause to be in the house."

Scully looked at him in amazement as he navigated the Taurus out into the street. "That's incredible!" she exclaimed, relieved that they might finally have a cold, hard suspect. DNA was distinctly stable, scientific, and non-paranormal, and in a case with its increasingly bizarre twists, that's exactly what they needed.

He seemed to read her mind, because he smirked. "Don't get your hopes though, Scully," he warned, and Scully knew from his expression that things were not nearly as clear as they may seem. Of course they weren't.

"Why, is it unusual in some way?" she asked.

"Nope, it's your average, run-of-the-mill Deoxyribonucleic acid," he said, looking smug. "They even found it in CODIS. . ."

"Mulderrr," she groaned, just wanting the information, and he grinned. Her partner did like his lab results with a little showmanship on the rare occasions that he got to divulge them. "Then what about it has you this excited?" she prodded after another moment.

"Not what—_who,_" he said, casting her a significant look.

Scully gave him a drilling look with him accompanied by a noise of exasperation, and Mulder seemed to finally turn more serious.

"The DNA match comes from a cold case that was opened in the FBI's California Cold Case unit in Los Angeles."

Scully didn't follow, and her face must have displayed her puzzlement, because Mulder nodded slightly, then took a breath and looked over at her again. "Scully. . .the DNA matches to Peter Love. He's still alive."

Shock fogged her brain and she felt her jaw actually drop, and her partner nodded seriously, in agreement with her reaction.

_Peter Love is_ _alive_? she thought, stunned. So then, _had_ he actually been a runaway as the authorities had originally believed before taking into account Geoff Love's (certainly edited) version of events? Or had he indeed been kidnapped, and was so damaged and traumatized that he'd returned to take revenge on the family he blamed for not protecting him? Her mind reeled and she stared to Mulder with wide eyes, appealing for more information.

"They established the unit about five years ago," Mulder explained. "And presumably the Peter Love case is one of the ones that they reopened for investigation, probably because it was so unusual—I mean, the kid was apparently abducted twice, the second time out of his room and with his previous abductor already in prison. . . So they submitted any possible physical evidence into CODIS just in case they got a hit with other cold or new cases, and sure enough. . ."

"_Peter Love is alive_," Scully repeated softly, and her mind still couldn't wrap itself around the shock. _What has he been up to for the past few decades_? she wondered in disbelief, and shook her head at her partner.

"But Scully, Peter Love is not the only one discovered to be alive. . ." Mulder continued, giving her a suddenly intense look. "They found the kids. And they're okay."

* * *

Scully was in an entirely different mood when she rushed into _this_ emergency room, pushing the swinging doors open before her like a wind, while Mulder jogged slightly to keep up with her, even with his longer legs.

She still felt overwhelmed by the apparent reality that Pete Love was not only alive, but their prime suspect, and couldn't wrap her mind around how the children had somehow been returned, essentially unharmed. Perhaps the younger Love brother had wanted to preserve their innocence, she thought, while dispensing what he viewed as justice on the parental figures. Maybe he saw Geoff—or parents in general—as a passive participant in the destruction of his own innocence. After all, Geoff had failed to protect his younger brother when he could have, and Pete probably faced abject oblivion after that. . .

And the catalyst? Maybe it was simply that Pete Love had seen his older brother featured in a magazine. . . He was handsome, loved, admired, and outrageously successful, and the immense injustice of that transported Pete into a homicidal rage. The magazines had given an indication of where Geoff and his family resided within the city, and all Pete had to do was narrow it down from there. _Well_, she mused, _he found them_.

She spotted Montes and some uniforms leaning against the Nurses' station and made a straight line across the floor, and when Montes saw them he immediately straightened and came forward to meet her.

"Agent Scully," he said, beaming through tired and lined eyes. "Agent Mulder," he added, greeting her partner, who had stepped up behind her. She felt his warmth at her back, and understood that he was assuming a more passive role, so that she could take over in this moment that she had been so anticipating, so hoping for. She registered her appreciation, but the well-being of the children maintained priority in her mind.

"The Loves are being examined by doctors now, but the prelim shows that they appear physically unharmed," he informed her, evidently reading her expression. "They're all crowded into Room 310 since they don't want to separate them after what they went through, and they've also got a Child Services person with them, acting as their guardian. Poor kids," he added, tiredness making his voice hoarse. "They had it all, and now they have nothing."

"They have their lives," Mulder pointed out. "And they have each other." Scully wasn't distracted enough by the return of the kids to miss the subtle sadness in Mulder's tone. If the others had been perceptive enough to detect it they probably would have been puzzled, given the great news the agents had just received, but Scully knew that despite the closure Mulder had received, he would always ache for the lost Samantha.

But instead, there were nods all around at his words, and a moment of reflective silence. Scully broke it when she said, "But it's not through any accomplishment of our own that they're alive," she replied, inclining her head slightly towards her partner. "This was just a gift. We've been lucky."

She left them at that, pushing through another set of double doors and then following the internal signs for Room 310. She could sense that Mulder was not following her, and she sighed with the relief that he knew her well enough to give her the space to do this on her own. She would want him with her later, to act as her sounding board, therapist, and comforter, and he would be there; but for now, she needed to confront this moment on her own, and face the swirling emotions surrounding the successful return with the children on her terms. She vaguely intuited that she might be behaving selfishly, and that Mulder was obviously feeling pain over this as well, but remained consistent and flushed those thoughts from her mind. He was obviously willing to let her take over this new development and address her unresolved issues, and so she would accept it.

As she swept down the generic hospital hall that looked like a thousand others she had known in her life from medical resident, to patient, to investigator, to failed potential mother, flashes of individual moments experienced within walls such as these merged in her mind. The theme seemed to be the elusive motherhood that she'd never burned for until she was denied it: The return from her abduction, when she had just had her chances for children literally ripped from her womb, but hadn't even learned it yet. . .The small, innocent little girl named Emily who was a product of evil manipulation of her ova, but still her precious child nonetheless. . .And then the last, almost the hardest, because it involved Mulder and an impossible and naive hope. . . She'd actually been fool enough to believe that not only was it possible to conceive a child, but that that it would be _theirs_, and maybe, maybe they could pull off of that metaphorical interstate at last. After everything she had seen, and everything that she had lost, she really should have known better.

She abruptly came to Room 310, and was again grateful that Mulder had not come as she quickly swiped at a few tears. His concern would be tender and protective, but that's not what she wanted now; her need was masochistic, but she believed it would be strangely cleansing, too, like fire.

She needed to burn away this sadness that was projecting itself on another family's tragedy.

She took a composing breath and then rapped on the door smartly, composing herself back into a medical doctor and federal agent, away from the bereft woman she had briefly become in the hall on the way over.

The door was answered by a tall and slightly frumpy woman with large glasses and long, frizzy graying hair. It was the Child Services appointed guardian, Scully would place good money on it.

"Yes?" she asked, blocking the door and staring owlishly down at Scully, who reached for her ID, and identified herself.

"Deborah Kern, Child Services," the woman confirmed, and then stepped aside.

Scully entered the room, and laid eyes on the three Love children, who had been haunting her since this case began, for the first time.

Winnie, Jon, and Mikey Love were huddled together on the exam table, accompanied by a doctor each. They all looked like Platonic images of child innocence, with their wide, trusting eyes, smooth rosy skin and silky hair. Their angelic faces weren't even marred by anxiety or fright. . . If anything, they looked complacent, almost dazed.

"Have you given these children sedatives?" she asked sharply, recognizing the signs. But before she could imagine potential horrors that would require the response of tranquilization, the doctor closest to her turned and shook his head quickly.

"This is how they came to us, Agent Scully. We do suspect that they have been drugged, though, and we've taken blood samples. The lab is running them now to determine if they've been dosed with anything."

Scully nodded and stepped closer to the children, who had dilated pupils and didn't seem to even register the doctors' ministrations.

"Have they been processed for evidence yet, uh, Dr. Sanders?" she asked, reading his ID tag.

He shook his head. "We just want to ensure that they don't require immediate medical attention, first."

"Your guys bagged their clothes when they were changed into hospital gowns, but that's it," Ms Kern informed her, and Scully turned towards the other woman. "Otherwise yeah, the docs will handle it, but they need to be gentle," she stated, her feet planted broadly on the floor, and her arms crossed over her chest. _And if they're not, they have to face me_, was her clear message.

Scully nodded and faced the children again, and continued her visual inspection. She was searching their wrists for signs of restraint marks or cuts, when she felt a sudden tight flutter of excitement pulse into her chest, and for the first time, she wished Mulder was with her to share this, if just for just this instant. It had been hard to see at first in the muted fluorescent lights of the room, but now that she was aware of it, it was everywhere: The three Love children were covered from head to toe in a light dusting of the identical iridescent powder that had been present in their original crime scene.

She stared at it with open fascination, and Dr. Sanders took notice. "Yeah, it's weird, right?" he said, shaking his head slowly. "Like the guy sprinkled them with fairy dust or something. We'll definitely get you samples of that."

"We've seen it before. . ." she murmured back, wondering if the SFPD lab was any closer to discovering what it actually was, then raked her eyes over the children and was again struck with how unresponsive they seemed.

"So you've ascertained their current state _isn't_ shock?" she asked. "How's their blood pressure, is it high enough? What about Oliguria, Dyspnea, or Cyanosis?"

"You an MD?" the doctor asked, looking up in surprise at her use of the medical jargon, and she nodded shortly. "They show no signs of any of those: the blood pressure in up in a nice healthy range, all three have urinated since they've been here, their skin is warm to the touch, and their fingertips and lips have no sign of blue discoloration."

She reached forward and placed the back of her hand against Winnie's upper arm, and sure enough, it was warm, almost hot, to the touch. And the physician had been right, their fingernail beds and lips were a nice, non-blue color.

She put her hands on her hips and turned again to Ms. Kern. "With your permission, I'd like to interview them as soon as possible," she told the other woman, then waited with somewhat bated breath for the response.

To her surprise, the woman nodded thoughtfully after only a moment. "Yeah. . .okay," she agreed. "We definitely need to find out what happened to these babies. I just ask that it's you who does the questioning, and that you try and wait until they're a little more coherent, so that we don't make them relive it more than necessary."

"Of course," Scully murmured, concurring that the children were in no shape to answer any questions right now. But something had given her a measure of hope that the drugs—or whatever it was—were wearing off and that they were struggling towards cognizance: Winnie had blinked when Scully had placed her hand on her arm, which had been the first sign of acknowledgment among the siblings that anyone had even touched them. She found a chair in the corner where she could watch the doctor finish their exam and begin processing for evidence. Until the Love children came to awareness, she would sit there and wait.


	10. Part 9

Mulder had finally sought out Scully at eleven o'clock the previous night, and she jumped from her doze at his touch to her shoulder. She had looked around and noticed that the children were gone from the room, but when she jumped up, he had shaken his head lightly. "They're fine, Scully, they're all asleep now. And I think you should be, too. There's nothing more for us to do tonight."

Too tired to argue, and not seeing a reason to since the children were in bed anyway, she had let him lead her to the car, and as soon as she had reached the motel, had all but passed out in exhaustion over the incredibly long and demanding day.

The following morning at nine, she found herself in back in the hospital in the children's Psych Services therapy room. It was painted in bright primary colors, the shiny enamel disguising the flimsy hospital walls below, and books, toys, stuffed animals and dolls were stuffed to overflowing on the shelves lining the perimeter. None of this seemed to interest the Love children now, though; they sat huddled in a child-sized denim sofa, their eyes still vacant, but momentarily clearing when they blinked. A tight knot had fastened itself on the inside of her throat, and with each of their slow blinks, she swallowed painfully. She watched them, clutching onto a plush lion she had pulled from one shelf in the hopes of interesting them. It hadn't worked; they had glanced at it with passive interest, but that was it. She exchanged a look with Ms. Kern, who was still trying to engage them by asking them what their favorite colors were, what was their favorite subject at school, weren't they excited to see their friends again?

All at once, Scully knew what to ask, and she understood that in that moment she was absolutely channeling Mulder, and his ability to intuit the essential questions. She could feel him there with her, and it was least of all because he was on the other side of the viewing window.

"Winnie," she said suddenly, cutting across Ms. Kern, who abruptly stopped and gave her a questioning look. "Do you know who Petey is?"

Immediately, all the Love children stared at her, agog and with pupils dilated.

"You know Petey?" the littlest one Mikey asked slowly and incredulously, as if just rousing from his afternoon nap.

"I do know Petey," Scully answered him with an encouraging smile.

"He's my frien'," Mikey announced with slightly more lucidity in his baby voice, and his two older siblings nodded slowly. "We played good guys an' bad guys and hide 'n' seek!"

Ms. Kern surveyed the children with amazement over the way they had suddenly all snapped to attention, but remained a silent observer.

"He's the one who saved us," Winnie offered dazedly, speaking for the first time. Her eyes still hadn't completely focused, and she looked as if she were still in a waking dream.

"How did he save you?" Scully pressed gently, her heart fluttering in her chest with excitement and anxious anticipation.

"He saved us from the thing outside our room, and took us to the nice place," Jon answered in the same high monotone as his sister.

"And how old is Petey?" Scully asked, hearing Mulder's question coming from her lips again.

"OLD!" Mikey shrieked emphatically, the clarity in his eyes sharpening, and Scully nodded (Peter Love would be about 40, according to the NCMEC records).

But Winnie and Jon both shook their heads, their eyes closed lightly and small creases in their brows.

"No. . .he wasn't _that_ old," Winnie answered finally, dreamily. "He was 12 like me. . ."

Scully was interrupted mid-thought with this unexpected revelation, unable to process it in a way that made any sense. If it was indeed Peter Love who had taken them, they wouldn't be looking for a 12-year-old at all. So then, who was this mysterious other Petey? She automatically looked up at the viewing window, and though she couldn't see Mulder to exchange a glance with him, she knew he was watching keenly, and would register her reaction.

". . .So it was funny. . ." Winnie went on, turning her face slowly like pulling an oar through deep water, so that her wide eyes fixed on Scully's own.

"What was funny?" Scully asked softly, though her mind was still on the 12-year-old. Perhaps it was another, previous victim and the name was simply coincidental?

When she came back to the moment, she was suddenly startled to see the young girl appearing more present than she had yet.

The eldest of the Love children had cocked her head to one side and was giving Scully an appraising look, before she leaned forward and confided with full awareness, "He wanted me to stay and be his Mommy."

Icy chills immediately raced down Scully's back and arms at that brief sentence, and she gave an involuntary shudder and found herself hugging the lion against her chest subconsciously.

"Don't be sad," cooed Mikey, making the first real move of any of them as he pitched forward off the small denim couch and crawled into her lap with the lion. "It was funnn, _lotsa_ fun! And Petey was funny." He gave a husky giggle, and Scully felt the strain in her throat tighten even more, as she fought not to squeeze all the breath out of the solid, warm little body in her arms. The result was that she was obviously holding herself too rigidly, so Mikey wriggled into her even more, as if trying to get the exact sort of comforting response she was holding back from giving.

"Agent Scully?" Ms Kern asked, clearly sensing something in Scully—discomfort, anxiety, sadness—but Scully nodded briefly at her, and allowed her to put her arms around the toddler, while trying to ignore the rush of. . .something. . .in her chest. What was Mulder thinking right then? Had he even noticed this moment of internal struggle?

She cleared her throat. "Winnie. . .did he say why he wanted you to be his-his mommy?"

Winnie shrugged, seeming to withdraw into herself again.

This time Jonathan piped up, his voice becoming steadier and less vague as well. "He said he wanted to just be a kid forever, because being a grown-up is too hard—" _How astute_, Scully thought "—but that he missed having someone take care of him. He said being a kid wasn't nearly as fun if you didn't have someone to take care of you."

"But I didn't want to!" Winnie suddenly whimpered, looking up into Scully's eyes as if pleading for her understanding. "I said, _But_ _who would take care of us_?" Her face was becoming red and flushed, and tears started to stream down her cheeks. "I'm just a kid too—I need _my_ mom! I'm too young to take care of anyone, that's why I even needed a babysitter! It was true, I _was_ too young, Mommy was right!" Her voice was rising steadily in pitch from panic. "But she's dead, isn't she? I know she is! _And Daddy, too!_"

Winnie launched herself from the couch and began to pace around the room before finally curling herself up in a ball on a large overstuffed chair on the opposite side of the room, where she sobbed chokingly and disconsolately. Apparently the recollection of what had happened before they had disappeared had fully shaken her from the vague stupor in which she and her brothers had arrived.

In Scully's lap, Mikey began to cry as well and burrowed his face in the crook of her arm, while Jon just looked on in mute shock, his face colorless and grief-stricken.

"I want to go back," he whispered to no one, and then his face crumpled and he began to cry as well. "I want to go back to the place with Petey."

Scully felt as if her hollow expression probably reflected those of the distraught children, and clearly Ms. Kern noticed it too, because she held her arms open and indicated that she hand Mikey over, a sympathetic expression in her eyes. Wordlessly, Scully gathered up the little boy and passed him to the guardian, despite how he grabbed fists of her blouse's fabric tightly in his hands so that they needed to be gently disengaged. Breaking him apart from Scully caused him to squall even more loudly, and call out in an increasingly hysterical wail, "Mommy, _Mommy_, _MOMMY!_"

Suddenly, she had to get out of the room. The children's raw pain at having lost their parents complemented her own grief too well, and she didn't trust herself to stay much longer. Either she might make a completely inappropriate and compulsive decision such as offering to foster them, or she would lose all sound judgment on the case itself—and neither were options. Collecting her belongings hastily, she stood from the chair and made her way quickly to the door without a word. She knew she was leaving Ms. Kern mystified, but she didn't care, and frankly the woman had bigger issues on her hands that the strange behavior of some FBI agent.

On the other side, she leaned against the wall, feeling her heart hammer in her ribs against the cool hospital wall, and she struggled to catch her breath and control her face before she had to meet with the rest of the team. Then suddenly Mulder was by her side, and she wanted nothing more than to give in to his warm, concerned presence and fall into the solid encompass of his arms, but she knew that once she let herself dissolve like that, any chances of her being able to go forward in a subjective manner would be destroyed. Instead, she went the opposite direction and steeled herself, and refused to return his tender expression.

She raised one eyebrow at the general vicinity of his shoulder, not quite making eye contact, which would also break down her resolve in seconds. "So what did you gather from that, Mulder?" she asked, quickly directing the conversation. "Are we looking for a previous kidnapping victim that was kept in the same location? I would dismiss the story about the 12-year-old, except that they all seem to agree upon it. But that doesn't necessarily prove that this person existed. . .Their state upon arrival indicates that they would have been open to suggestibility, though I can't imagine to what end the—

"Are we going to play that whole game where we pretend you're fine right now? I really thought we were past this," he snapped at her, interrupting her somewhat nervous delivery with narrowed eyes. Since they had started to sleep with each other, he had become much more comfortable calling her out on something, as opposed to tiptoeing around the subject for fear of getting in over his head emotionally.

She bristled immediately, her defenses up. "No, we're playing that game where we pretend that we're actually professional," she retorted, immediately betraying that she wasn't actually nearly as cool as she was trying to depict.

Mulder shook his head in annoyance. "Scully, I saw what happened in there, and I don't think it makes you unprofessional to step back from this a little. The kids are fine now, and that was our prime objective. You can slacken the reins, okay?" He placed a hand on her shoulder as if trying to physically press his request into her.

Scully felt a flush of irritation at the patronizing tone and glared at him, then shrugged. His hand slid off and dropped to his side. "We still don't know what happened to them, who's responsible, or if they really are fine," she pointed out. "I don't think it's appropriate for me to indulge in my own personal matters when there's still plenty of case I'd like to follow through."

Mulder rocked back on his heels a little and looked up at the ceiling in obvious frustration. "I wouldn't call it _indulging_, Scully," he replied after a moment. "I would call it looking out for yourself."

"Yeah, well. . ." she answered, turning to leave. "Right now I need to look out for those kids. Like I've said all along, they're my priority."

"Well you're mine," Mulder answered softly, trying a second time for physical connection by catching her hand as she turned. She had to brace herself to prevent her lower lip from trembling. "I don't want you to burn out on this, Scully."

"I'm fi—"

"Don't," Mulder interrupted in hardened tone, not allowing her to finish her predictable sentence, and she pursed her lips and snatched away her hand. A moment later she felt rather childish, and blushed. "Look," she tried again. "I'm not pretending that this is easy, but it's nothing I can't handle. . . But you need to _let_ me handle it, okay? My way."

Mulder looked as if he was ready to fight with her on that point, and she knew as well as if she's heard him, that he was thinking, _Your way to handle things is to not handle them at all_. But instead he just watched her for a long moment, then inclined his head to indicate they walk down the hall together.

Just when they had nearly reached the doorway to the waiting rooms and the slightly chilly silence had almost become too much for Scully, and she was trying to think of something—anything—to fill it, he spoke up. "Dissociative Disorder," he stated suddenly, apparently temporarily letting her off the hook through the change of subject. "Do you know about it?"

Scully grasped onto this offering immediately, grateful to be back in charted territory, and without the intense and knowing probe of his eyes.

"Yeah. . ." she nodded. "It's when a person experiences a sense of detachment—either to his or her person or surrounding—or even goes so far as to construct alternate realities as a coping mechanism in response to some type of trauma."

"Right," Mulder concurred. "Mild cases are diagnosed relatively often, while the more extreme cases may present as the controversial 'Dissociative Identity Disorder'—so-called 'Multiple Personality Disorder.'" He stopped short at the exit and turned back towards her with bright eyes that foretold of another 'spooky' yet unnervingly accurate leap. "Scully, I've been thinking, and when I heard the kids' statements, something clicked: what if we're seeing, for lack of a better word, the _extreme_ of an extreme case?"

She tilted her head and waited for the usual thrill of hearing a bizarre new theory to distract her from the painful details of the case. She hadn't confided this to him—at least not yet—but their intellectual repartees had been one of the main reasons she'd fallen in love with her partner, so she had come to relish and even need them. She certainly needed the relatively routine and familiar exchange (how ironic, considering the subject matter, but it was. . .) to anchor her now.

"In Dissociative Disorders, it's thought that the so-called 'multiple identities' represent various elements in one's own cohesive personality," Mulder explained, and she was with him so far, but knew it was only a matter of time before his theory veered off. "In Peter Love's case, I believe that he only had two overwhelming aspects to his personality, which vied for control. One side of him yearned to return to the happy, carefree and innocent days of his childhood, while the other just wanted to lose himself in the oblivion of his rage and hurt, and lash out at everyone he blamed for inflicting such horrors on him, including his parents and older brother. I think that it all came to a head one night."

"The night Peter Love disappeared the second time?" Scully asked, wondering if Mulder was going to actually build a theory from hearsay based on what an already-traumatized kid saw in the middle of the night.

"Precisely," Mulder nodded enthusiastically, apparently not seeing any problem with doing just that. "You mentioned the construction of alternate realities. . ."

She was always amazed and even grudgingly impressed at how he took her words describing accepted scientific fact, and through them, managed to make it seem as though she were validating his outer-limit theories. She could also now see where this was going, and shifted from one foot to another, waiting to hear the actual words.

"Well," he continued, "what if Geoff witnessed the moment when Peter Love's personality finally split into his two opposing parts, and each of these fully-manifested personas was able to _literally_ escape into his own 'alternate reality?'"

This is what she had been expecting, but she was stunned nonetheless, proving that after seven years, she still had not become inured to his ideas. "Mulder," she said, when she'd found her voice after a minute, "I already have a hard time buying Multiple Personality Disorder as it is. . . !"

"The more _child_-likesplit of his identity created a place where he was able to recover a semblance of innocence, and remain suspended in childhood forever," Mulder elaborated insistently. "The seemingly-innocuous themes of the games Mikey Love mentioned—'Good Guys and Bad Guys, and Hide and Seek'—show that Peter Love could never escape the traumatic events, but he could take out the fear. _But_," he added, giving Scully a significant look, "all that horror, and trauma, and rage, and despair had to go somewhere."

"Hence the other identity?" she asked resignedly, already knowing how he would answer.

"It's Yin and Yang, Scully," he concurred with one deep nod. "Whereas the Light side wanted to rescue the children and shelter them in the safe world he had created, Peter Love's Dark side only sought to destroy everyone and everything that he came upon, either intentionally (as I think is the case of Dr. Love and Van Hoek), and accidentally (as I think would have been the case with the kids)."

Scully watched him for another moment, then felt a sardonic half-smile play on her lips, and she realized with a start that this exchange was definitely working to distract her, though as soon as she understood it she flitted her thoughts back to the present, so as not to derail its success.

"Mulder, don't you think it's much more likely that the kids were taken by the adult Peter Love, and that they were just confused? Occam's Razor, Mulder. . .between two explanations, the simpler one is usually the correct one. . ."

"True, but your theory _doesn't_ explain it. It can't account for how the killer and abductor got into locked areas."

Scully sighed. Yes, that _was_ the crux of the matter, wasn't it? "Okay, let's say for the moment that you're-you're actually correct in this theory. Just for the sake of argument, why _now_? Why forty years later, Mulder? Taking out all the fantastical elements again for a moment, one could suppose that it was either the sight of Geoff Love in the magazines, as we've discussed—or perhaps the timing of Van Hoek's release from prison. . ."

But Mulder was already shaking his head, and so she just trailed off and gave him a '_what, then?' _ stare.

"Both those theories are sound, but the fact is you just can't take the ' fantastical' out of this. . .and with that in mind, something Dr. Mitfuhlend said strikes me as having especial significance."

They locked eyes and Scully waited for it, but just when she raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to prompt him, he continued.

"He mentioned that Geoff was shaken by an experience in the lab one night when he was there on his own. . .Scully, I agree with Mitfuhlend, and think that Geoff was lying about a failure, and was actually terrified. I suspect that far from having failed, he had succeeded: he _had_ in fact finally broken through the 'boundary of human knowledge' but on the other side, he somehow accessed his brother's parallel realities. No—no, I can't explain how," he forestalled Scully, when she started to jump in, a million rebuttals racing in her mind. "But I believe something along those lines happened that night. And though it terrified him, I think he was still resolved to fully understand it, and how his area of study, teleportation, related to it. Also he probably wanted to know the converse: how so-called _replacement transference_ could perhaps explain what happened to his brother."

He touched her arm and gave her a small, personal smile. "By finally being able to explain it in scientific terms, I think he felt he'd be able to get some closure. Unfortunately—" he continued in a more solicitous voice, "I don't think he realized the repercussions of his actions that night. . .He wasn't nearly as terrified as he should have been."

There was a momentary silence that seemed especially deafening in the empty hallway, as Scully tried to process all she had just heard, and organize her thoughts in response.

Finally she responded, "So, just to clarify, you're basing your entire theory on the suppositions that _one_, what Mitfuhlend said Geoff witnessed as a teen is actually valid, which takes quite a leap of faith in and of itself, and _two_, Mitfuhlend's personal interpretation is correct: that Love hadn't failed that night, but had been terrified by something?"

"And the statements of the Love children," he added, but she just shook his head dismissively. None of this so-called evidence would even come _close_ to getting through a prelim hearing if this were a court.

"After this sort of trauma it's natural that they might not remember what exactly has happened," she replied, and got a sudden flashback of the glassy, staring eyes. "They're in shock and were possibly even drugged and open to suggestion. I mean, come on Mulder! Let's base our conclusions on a bit more hard evidence, shall we?"

As soon as she finished, he jumped in. "Something like physical evidence?" he asked, in a tone a little too eager for her liking.

"Ye-e-es," she answered slowly. "If we had a theory backed by physical evidence, that would of course be ideal."

"How about that dust we found everywhere?" he immediately rejoined.

"What about it?" she countered, wondering where he could be going with this. "We still don't know what it is."

"True, but we know what it's _made_ out of," he retorted triumphantly, looking like he'd been waiting for just the right moment to spill this news, and it had finally come. "When you were waiting with the kids, the lab came back with a spectrum analysis. Titanium Dioxide, Zinc Oxide, Bismuth Oxychloride, Iron Oxide, and prolactin," he recited, and though she was thrown by this news, she had to admire how fluently he rattled off the compounds. Maybe she _was_ rubbing off him somewhat. She'd sometimes believed, at her most frustrated times, that he was steadily changing her, but that she never changed him, and despite loving him, she'd felt worried and lost by the thought. She was impressed now, but also knew that he was going to do it again: use scientific ingredients to build a bizarro pie.

"Did you ever watch Sesame Street, Mulder?" she asked, and she got the satisfaction of seeing her own nonplussed expression appear on his face. Ha.

He looked at her for a moment then blinked, the only indication that he was slightly thrown, then answered, "It was a little after my time, but Samantha did, why?"

"Well 'which one of these things is not like the other?' The first several chemical compounds you mention—Titanium Dioxide, Zinc Oxide, Bismuth Oxychloride, Iron Oxide—make sense together. They can all account for the shimmer and/or consistency of the so-called dust we've found. But the presence of prolactin is strange. It's a peptide hormone primarily associated with lactation, but is also thought to cause to decrease levels of sex hormones in humans (estrogen for women and testosterone for men), lower sex drives, and delay hair growth in young bo—" She stopped at the smug expression on Mulder's face.

"So it would be fair to say that it's possible that an individual who hyper-produces this hormone might remain physically and perhaps sexually underdeveloped—_young_—due to lowered testosterone, suppressed sex drive, and a delay in certain hair growth patterns?

Scully knew what he was up to immediately and tried to make a preemptive strike. "Mulder, no one could possibly assert that with any credibility, without conducting trials, tests—"

"Just, 'for the purposes of argument,' he repeated back at her, "is it _possible_?" he repeated.

"Mulder, I—" she sighed deeply, seeing the trap laid out and resignedly stepping into it anyway. "Fine. But again, _only_ or the sake of argument. I'm not agreeing with you here—"

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he jumped in, and she gave a short nod.

"But yes, if a young boy were dosed with this chemical, it is feasible it would delay puberty. But _only_ delay, Mulder, and it wouldn't suppress physical development, just sexual. So the child would continue to look outwardly normal, he just wouldn't be able to gain an erection or grow hair on his chest."

Mulder bit his lip, his eyes sparkling, looking as if he was trying exceptionally hard to refrain himself from saying something, most likely because it was completely inappropriate at the moment. But she knew what he was thinking nonetheless, and rolled her eyes.

"_Anyway_," she said, "if he did just flit off with the Love children into this alternate reality he'd created—"

"I never used the word 'flit,' Scully."

"Fine. If Peter Love's 'innocent' persona wanted to protect the children from going through what he had experienced, why are they back? Why wouldn't they stay there in this state of alleged bliss, knowing that they have no one at all waiting for them here?"

"I believe that the entire point of Peter's constructed world is that it is sheltered and free from horrors of any sort, and unfortunately the Love children arrived there tainted by their grief and lack of innocence after being present in the house when their parents and babysitter were butchered. Because they _weren't_ innocents, the only role left for them was that of parent—mother—but they couldn't fulfill those roles either, because they were too young. Ultimately, I believe they were too complex and flawed for that Never-Neverland-type utopia."

_An answer for everything, _she thought, but said nothing.

He put an arm around her and guided her out through the door to face the rest of the team, who were milling about on Blackberries or chatting in sotto voices. As soon as she came through the door, though, they stood up and looked at her with expressions of concern, and it irked her. What did they think—throw a couple of vulnerable kids into the mix and Agent Scully goes into some sort of female, maternal overdrive? It didn't matter that it was truer than they could ever know—the principle of the matter was that they shouldn't assume it. She frowned, and cleared her throat.

"We had to end the interview," she informed them in as carefully detached a voice she could muster. "They became hysterical, and it's clear that no more information may be gleaned until they become calmer, and speak to a therapist with Child Services."

"No 'more'?" Montes asked. "So you did learn something?"

"Actually, we—" Mulder started, but Scully immediately jumped in:

"As I said, the children are in a state of severe emotional stress right now, and they were somewhat incoherent." She knew he'd inwardly chafe at the interruption, but she wasn't ready to have Mulder unveil his theory yet; they still had some more talking to do partner to partner.

"Agent Scully thinks that the statements the children gave should be taken with more than just one grain of salt after the ordeal they faced, but in fact they all agreed on certain key points," Mulder managed to break in nonetheless, with a look in her direction she couldn't interpret.

_Oh, here it comes_, Scully thought, and this time she didn't see a tactful way to derail him. She felt the familiar flush of embarrassment start, though it wasn't nearly as keen as it used to be. Now she was almost more fascinated by Mulder's absolute willingness to look foolish in order to defend what he believed, and her respect of him for that almost outweighed any peripheral embarrassment. Almost.

"All three children referred to a 'Petey' as being present with them, and this is obviously the same first name as Geoff Love's brother, Peter Love—himself a victim of kidnapping and childhood trauma. The NCMEC records indicate that law enforcement had originally believed that Peter Love was a runaway; it was only the statement of Geoff Love—who described a second assailant the night he vanished—that changed the status of the case. But he could've misrepresented what he saw to the police, and I think that now that we've found his fingerprints at the scene, there can be no doubt that Peter Love _is_ alive, and somehow involved. Scully has two separate theories as to what prompted the attack at this time, but I'm still open to other ideas, and still curious as to how Geoff Love's work could have played a part in explaining how someone could get into an apparently locked room."

Scully was stunned at what she was hearing. What had happened to the total willingness to look foolish in order to assert what he believed? His explication had been rational and feasible, and he had mentioned nothing of constructed alternate realities and two opposite yet complementary personas. There was only a token-like hint of the strange at the end, but it was far from the controversial theory he had shared with her.

She gave him a quizzical look and he looked mildly back, and when she turned to the group she saw them actually all nodding thoughtfully, an incredibly rare phenomenon in response to a Mulder theory.

"We were thinking along those same lines ourselves, Mulder," O'Brien agreed. "Now that we know the brother is alive, it all fits. Well, except for the answer of _how_ he got into the house. Ideally we could answer it and forestall a good defense lawyer from getting him off that way, but sometimes there are just some things you can't answer. . ."

_Welcome to my life_, Scully thought, while still watching Mulder for a hint of what he was thinking.

"So do you think Peter Love is responsible for both crimes, then?" Montes pressed him, and her partner nodded slowly.

"I do think Peter Love murdered the parents in a fit of homicidal rage, and I think Pete is responsible for the kids' disappearances," he answered carefully, and the other agents didn't seem to notice the slight disparity, but Scully did. So he wasn't lying about what he thought, but he certainly wasn't telling them the whole truth of his theory, either.

"Well we obviously need to get a warrant for Peter Love so I'll set up a meeting with Park ASAP to go over our evidence—and notify SFPD so they don't cry foul," O'Brien said, and the others nodded solemnly.

"I'll get on it," Jamie volunteered, and he turned away from the others to get on his phone. "Agent Parks please. It's Jamie with a status update and a liaison request. . ." she heard him say, before Montes spoke up again.

"We should get back to the office to put things in motion—you guys coming?"

"Yeah, I'll just grab a ride with Mulder," Scully answered quickly, glad to have another few moments alone with her partner to find out what had just happened.

* * *

"What the hell was that about, Mulder?" she launched as soon as they had buckled their seatbelts, and while watching the mirror as he reversed, he answered without looking at her:

"That was me doing us both a favor."

She waited another minute for him to elaborate, but when he didn't she sighed through her nose and said, "Okaaay?"

"I'm not such a megalomaniacal egomaniac that I don't see how my theories are received Scully, and we're already walking a tightrope with Agent Park, not to mention the inter-jurisdictional mess that resulted from the interview with Zydek yesterday. So I just figured they didn't need to know about _all_ the details we discussed. . ."

"Are you saying that you're finally going to be diplomatic?" she asked, her eyebrows quirked in disbelief, not daring to believe what she was hearing.

"No—no. I'm the same stubborn ass I've always been," he quickly answered, and she was surprised at how strangely reassured she felt at hearing it, despite how many times she had entreated that he keep his nose clean. "But in the interest of wrapping up this case quickly, I felt that I needed only mention the points that are still relevant to this case. The kids are back now, and I don't think that the one responsible is any threat anymore—not that he ever really was. . .

"So as far as _I'm _concerned, the FBI case is closed. If they want to link back with SFPD to mutually try and track down the real threat—the corrupted side of Peter Love—then fine, but I'm not sure that _we_ can be any additional help at this point. The only thing I can do is talk to Larry Mitfuhlend, and encourage him to continue his work, and maybe find a way to close Pandora's Box. I think he's our best chance at ending this thing."

"Mulder, why do you want to wrap this case up so quickly?" she asked suspiciously, that one phrase having stood out in her mind. He had never been one to walk away from what he believed to be a legitimate open case, so why would he now? "Why aren't you going to try to stay on the team and work with the SFPD until we track this thing down—whatever it is. It's still an X-File!"

"After our one interaction with the Chief, I somehow doubt SFPD is going to open its arms to me again. But as to why I want to wrap it up, that much should be obvious."

His eyes left the road for a moment to cast her a significant look, but she averted her gaze and stared out the window, beginning to seethe. She had thought that she'd made it clear that she wanted to handle this on her own—besides, they had come onto a case regarding kidnapped children, so of course they were her top priority. Why was he turning it all around on _her?_ She pursed her lips and kept her head turned, and she heard him sigh heavily next to her, but he continued the drive in silence.

"Mulder, please don't walk away from a case just on the notion—misguided, I might add—that I'm can't handle this case," she told him a minute later. "Once again, for the record, I can."

He didn't immediately respond—just slightly raised his eyebrows, and she didn't know if she was relieved, or felt like drawing him into a confrontation. Mostly she was just frustrated at his obvious skepticism, and though she could admit that she wasn't being truthful to herself, it deeply bothered her that he wasn't giving her the benefit of the doubt.

"We're not 'walking away,'" he spoke, just when she became convinced they were going to spend the rest of the ride in silence. "We've done what we came to do: we've thoroughly investigated the case and come to our own conclusions, and I passed what I see as the relevant information on to the home-team. Now I'm tying up some peripheral loose ends with Dr. Mitfuhlend. And, most importantly, the kids are back and apparently safe besides the obvious hardship of losing their parents. So no, I don't think we're walking away."

"Well what about what _I_ want?" she bristled. "I told you I'd like to see this through, Mulder. I want to be able to talk to the kids some more when they're calmer, and I'm invested in seeing Peter Love in custody and questioned."

"Due to precisely who/what Peter Love is, I'm not sure that will ever happen, Scully," Mulder said. "So now is as good a time as any for us to wrap it up. . .and maybe take a few days off. Come on, what do you think," he said, his tone suddenly softer, warmer. "Jjust the two of us, driving up the coast and catching some minor league baseball ga—"

"Mulder, this is not the time," Scully cut him off sharply, shaking her head. She was in no mood to be emotionally blackmailed by the promise of unfettered quality time between the two of them in the future, in exchange for giving up ground now. She hoped it was just bad timing on his part, and not a cognizant manipulation, but either way, she was not pleased.

Her interruption seemed to have cut him, and now he too stared moodily ahead, while she glared out the side window. This time the remainder of the ride was silent, and until they reached the federal building, Scully felt a sort of awkwardness that she hadn't known with Mulder since the days before they had finally confronted their feelings for each other. Back then, every touch or lingering eye contact was fraught with agonizing internal bouts of angst and confusion—_what does it mean. . .does he feel the way I feel. . .what would the consequences be. . . _

She had thought that when they became involved, she'd never feel that uncertainly again, but now she faced the challenge of a new type of intimacy: emotional. Striking the balance between being seen as a strong and capable partner and an honest and committed woman in a relationship was proving much more difficult than she could have ever expected. When she didn't think it would affect their work, she often opened up to him, and she had even done so earlier in the case. But now, even though ultimately she wanted nothing more than to confide in him, she feared for the loss of equality in their partnership that would come about from this protectiveness of her. If they weren't also FBI partners, she would have let him into _all_ her thoughts by now, but they were, and she could not threaten their dynamic due to her own personal issues.

This time, neither of them spoke until they reached the Federal Building.


	11. Part 10

**The hiatus on this story has been way too long. I have all the notes on the rest of the plot and I will finish it if it _kills_ me, damn it! ;)**

* * *

Apparently Mulder and Scully weren't as familiar with the driving shortcuts through San Francisco as the other agents; the meeting was already in full swing in Meeting Room C when they arrived. The room looked a little different than it had when she had last seen it as well. Gone were the empty chips bags and greasy pizza boxes; ASAC Park presided over a spotless table divided by neat stacks of evidence boxes, attended to by agents with straight backs and suit coats on and buttoned.

"Ah, Agents Scully and Mulder," she spoke from the head of the table when they were ushered in by Jamie. "Let me get you up to speed. Before you arrived we all reached the consensus that Peter Love is now our main focus, thanks to the physical evidence of the DNA in both rooms, as well as the children's testimony that someone named Peter took them. We're currently asking Judge Galvin to issue an arrest warrant for the brother."

Immediately, Scully was on alert. This sounded suspiciously like the ASAC was working up to a conclusion and dismissal. As in, _You're not needed anymore, the case is closed. Please submit your passkeys to the front desk, good-bye._

"Agent Park, if I may say something. . ." she suddenly spoke up, feeling the need to make a case for their continued presence before Agent Park said as much.

Agent Park looked disconcerted, but nodded her assent.

"The theory you've just outlined isn't actually corroborated by the statements I heard," she continued, and she regretted disagreeing in front of the ASAC's subranking agents, but sensed that this would be her only chance before they were publicly excused. "They very specifically stated that that Pete was a boy of twelve. I don't think we can ignore the possibility that there's a prior victim."

She spotted Mulder subtly shifting weight and looking away, and this time she flushed with annoyance at him, not warmth. Yes, he had already shared his theory explaining the younger Peter, but it would be irresponsible, not to mention poor investigating, not to state her concerns. His pride was nothing compared to the potential rescue of another victim.

"I am aware of it Agent Scully," Agent Park responded, looking slightly surprised at the strident tone coming from her, rather than Mulder. "And we have an agent currently searching the NCMEC database for children matching that criteria. But as I know _you're_ aware, the victims were next to incoherent, so until we get any further evidence indicating that there was another kidnapped child, I have to proceed with the evidence I do have. And it's currently telling me that they were confused and that the Pete they were mentioning is the perpetrator. I'm fairly certain that the judge will agree."

This time Scully's impatience with Agent Park's obstinance caused her to feel no regret when she challenged, "Well no disrespect intended, but is it the plan of this office to pick and choose which physical evidence to apply to a theory?"

There was a long, somewhat stunned pause following her words, and around the table almost everyone began to stare studiously at the table. Only Jamie was looking up, gazing at Scully in wonder. She wasn't surprised to learn that no one would ever dare to speak to the ASAC in such a way, but frankly, she didn't care at this point. Agent Park's pride was nothing compared to the need to find any outstanding victims either.

Park's dark eyes flashed dangerously, and Scully knew that she was treading thin ice, but she felt compelled to continue. "I examined the crime scene and subsequent report myself. The evidence indicates that no one left the house following the murder, and - "

"By that same token," Park interrupted, "we should have found the children at home, and the killer still in the house. But I'm sure you can also confirm that physical evidence shows that none of the victims could have killed each other or themselves. So obviously it's a fallacy, and there's simply something that the FBI, county lab, and SFPD have missed. However, the DNA in _both rooms_ is solid evidence, and I think we can all agree that Peter Love is highly suspicious."

"Yes it seems contradictory, which is precisely why Agent Mulder and I were called. I believe that if we continue with our investig-"

"First you were called against my wishes, and then I was strong-armed by an assistant director," ASAC Park barked, and Scully noticed Montes avoiding everyone's eyes. "And frankly I think your presence does critical damage to the case by providing any defense lawyer with ample cause for reasonable doubt. I think it's safest to put aside any inconsistencies for the moment, and focus on the incontrovertible physical evidence, the DNA."

Scully said nothing, but pursed her lips. It seemed that she was outnumbered, and she seethed at the silent figure beside her.

"Now," said Park, with the air of someone putting something unpleasant to rest, "I would like to discuss strategies on how to actually execute said warrant. Montes, I want you to contact Child Services and set up a time with a child psychologist to further interview the victims. O'Brien and Jamie, please have the SFPD lab age the 6th grade picture we have of Peter Love and pass it around local homeless shelters. Have SFPD assist. And Special Agents Mulder and Scully. . ." She eyed them and Scully detected a subtle hint of satisfaction beneath her stony exterior. "I think we have things covered. Unless Chief Lau would like to enroll your assistance," Scully bristled at that - Park knew full well that Lau wouldn't let them within 100 feet of his case, "I think that you've been of enough service. We greatly appreciate your input, but as I said I am going to move away from the unexplainable element as soon as possible."

Scully knew she was defeated, and as everyone stood up to launch into the next phase of the case, she pushed out of the room first, ignoring Mulder and feeling irate. She stalked to their shared office and began piling her compendium of files and shoving them into her briefcase. She didn't even notice Mulder until he was at her elbow, and then she just tightened her lips and continued clearing her belongings.

After a moment watching her, Mulder asked, "What are you doing?"

She gave a soft bark of sardonic laughter, and zipped her bag up with a little more vehemence than was necessary. First he was going to hang her out to dry in some misguided attempt to get her to pull back from the case, and then he was going to play dumb about it when his scheme succeeded?

"We've been thrown off the case, Mulder. Or weren't you listening? That might explain why you didn't once step in to support me." She straightened up looked fully into his face, raising one eyebrow.

He seemed unfazed. After seven years he was apparently nearly immune to that expression.

"I was listening," he answered measuredly. "I just didn't see what could be accomplished by antagonizing a woman whose mind is as closed as Agent Park's."

"That's never stopped you before," Scully rejoined, halfway to herself. "I guess when it's a case that means a lot to _me_ rather than you - Mulder!" she suddenly protested as he grabbed her bag from her hands and put it on her desk, but he shook his head shortly and she felt almost incoherent with a sudden rage she couldn't understand.

"Just - just hear me out for a second," he said, and she watched incredulously as he shoved her bag away and sat on the desk in front of her.

"I already told you I'm not ready to just give up," she told him. "I would think that you of all people would be able to understand that. You could've backed me up."

He grabbed her hands from where they clutched each side of her waist and placed them together within his. She looked away, still angry, but didn't pull back. To her horror, she felt those damned tears threaten to sting her eyes again.

"I knew from the moment they got that hit on the DNA that Park was going to try to get rid of us. As long as there was no viable suspect, she could tolerate agents pursuing many different lines of inquiry. But she can't have differing threads of investigation now; that's not consistent with her supervisory style and it's obvious."

Scully looked away, pursing her lips. She'd had the same concern - so? She was willing to go toe-to-toe with the ASAC precisely _because_ she was trying to forestall their dismissal.

"And I was willing to walk away without a fight because it seems like it's just becoming too personal," he added.

"And who are you to decide for me when it's 'too personal' Mulder?" Scully asked softly, but in a tone she knew Mulder could tell was dangerous. Now she pulled her hands out of his grasp.

"Who were you?" he shot back at her. "You've said that to me time and time again. And as someone with a little retrospect, I know what it does to a person. I didn't want you to have to go through that."

"We're on a case, we're not handling something in our _private_ lives," Scully told him, her eyes flashing. "I'm Agent Scully to you right now, and as Agent Mulder, it's not your place to protect for my emotions."

Mulder looked stubborn, pained, and conflicted, but to her absolute shock, answered, "Yes, I realized that. Which is why I didn't say anything in the meeting."

She felt as if the wind had been taken from her sails and for once didn't have a return ready for him. "What?" she managed to ask a moment later.

He sighed and scrubbed his face with his knuckles. "I didn't want to antagonize her, in the hope that we could just fly under the radar until you feel comfortable concluding this case. Your message in the car was received."

Scully was still geared for a fight, so the fact that Mulder was actually acquiescing to her request took a moment to process. Finally, after a long moment of silence, she looked up into his eyes and nodded once. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, partner," he responded and she half-heartedly smiled. "So what's the next step, Agent Scully?"

Without answering him immediately, she reached around him for her bag and ran her hand contemplatively across the top of the files within.

"I know this is usually more your area, but I was curious about victimology. Maybe if we better understand the motives we'll be better equipped to protect anyone else from coming to the same harm. It may be. . ." she searched for a neutral word to describe the loggerheads she and Mulder could come to in the course of the conversation, "controversial, since so far we can't prove that there are two separate entities which may have differing objectives, but - yes?"

Mulder was trying to behave and let her speak, but he looked like her three-year-old nephew doing the potty dance, and she decided to repay the flexibility he had shown her by letting him give his input before she was necessarily done.

"I don't think it's as much a problem it appears," he explained. "Yeah, I do believe that there are two separate forces at work here, but I think there is only one perpetrator, meaning that we can conclude that the driving factors in each murder are consistent."

Scully nodded, somewhat relieved that they could put aside Mulder's interpretations of the circumstances for now and focus on his own brand of science, profiling.

Just then a hesitant knock came to the door, and Montes entered the office, the lines around his eyes standing out, and tension clear in his shoulders.

Mulder and Scully nodded at him, and he hung his head. "ASAC Park requested that I assist you with bringing any files down to the garage, or help with anything else that would 'smoothly facilitate your departure.'"

"Euphemism of course for 'make 'em scarce,'" Mulder observed, and Montes looked dejected.

"It's fine Agent Montes, we just have a few things that we can carry with us," Scully added, feeling sorry for her colleague. They had so few allies.

"I apologize, agents," he said tiredly, but then he raised his head and looked them squarely in the eye. "But I don't regret what I'm sure the boss sees as mutinous. We may not have wrapped it up in an entirely satisfactory manner, but your leadership on it was evident." He reached out a resolved hand, and firmly shook first Scully's, then Mulder's, before giving them one final nod and heading out.

They both stared at the empty doorway for a moment before Mulder cleared his throat. "Well that's our cue, Scully," he said, sliding off the desk. "Guess it's time to take this show back to the motel."

Her eyebrows raised immediately, recalling at once what had happened last time they had taken a break at the motel midday, and if he had anymore intentions to distract her from finishing what she came to do.

He read her thoughts immediately and quickly added, "No more trying to distract you away from the case, or anything like that, I promise. Like I said, the message was received." Then when he saw her expression soften he evidently felt a little bit more daring, because he threw in teasingly, "Get your mind out of the gutter."

She ignored him and slung her bag across her shoulder, and she heard him sigh, though almost inaudibly. She tensed in preparation for a comment, ready with a defensive line, but the sigh was all that came.

* * *

Scully had nothing against operating out of a motel room. After all, she couldn't count the number of times on the road when their rooms were essentially just mobile offices that they happened to sleep in. Because of that, motels didn't have the illicit connotations for her that they had for many people, and she wasn't in the least bit tempted as she and Mulder sprawled across the covers of her bed next to each other, poring over the files.

. . .Actually, that was a complete lie, one that she was trying very hard to convince herself of. But as much as it irritated her, something about him physically was calling to her - did she want sex? Comfort? Both? - and the distraction opened the door to ideas which left her feeling confused and frustrated.

Dare she wonder it, but what _did_ she really need right now? Was Mulder right, and she should just let this go? Was she holding onto this because she felt like this was a situation pertaining to children that she believed she could somewhat control, as opposed to her own personal situation?

She flinched and squeezed her eyes shut, silently berating herself for getting off-track. When she opened her eyes, it was to examine the files with renewed focus - as Agent Scully.

But almost immediately another distracting thought punched through her concentration. "Agent Scully." "Dana." She had differentiated the two to Mulder earlier in the office, and that resonated with the conversation they had had regarding "Peter" and "Petey." Was she no different: two separate personas fighting for dominance? The thought made her feel lost, like she didn't know herself at all.

She shook her head lightly, and bit down on her lip to start to re-examine the file in her hands again. She realized she'd been staring at the same few lines of a police report for quite some time now.

Apparently so had Mulder, who was now watching her with an inscrutable expression on his face. It seemed like a mixture of worry, understanding, and maybe even slight disapproval. He said nothing, but the long beat of eye contact told her he was aware that she was preoccupied, and that he suspected why. Then, finally, with a quick raise of his eyebrows, he returned his attention to a file that was double the thickness of hers and yet almost completely reviewed.

She attempted to do the same, but it was no use; her own thoughts were taking her hostage. _Perhaps a different approach,_ she thought, and rose to a kneel across from her partner.

Maybe if she gave "Dana" what she wanted, "Agent Scully" would have a fighting chance to finish business afterwards. In any other circumstances she would scoff at herself for such thoughts, but now that she had mentally granted herself permission to do this, she could think of nothing else.

She took a deep, steadying breath. Then, tossing her own report aside, she rocked back on her heels and began to unbutton her blouse. Mulder, although he was clearly engrossed, couldn't help but glance over at her movement, and he did a double-take that would have been comedic in any other situation.

"Scully. . .?" His eyes were wide and surprised as he gaped at her.

She didn't respond; she only shrugged off her blouse and leaned forward to press her mouth against his.

He responded for a moment before tipping back his head and looking into her eyes, the concern now full-fledged. "I thought this was exactly the sort of thing that we were avoiding," Mulder said, sitting up and touching her cheek. "What's going on?"

Scully just shook her head impatiently and started tugging his tie loose. He seemed to be frozen, still caught up in surprise, because she had already freed it and started on his shirt before he reacted. He caught her hand up in his and clasped it, preventing her from going further, and she huffed in annoyance. "Are you saying no?" she asked him with incredulity.

"No. . .well, not necessarily," he responded, and sat up to face her. "I just can't help feel that this isn't about being with me. It's about something you're going through, and I want to know what that is before we do anything you might regret."

"Why would I regret doing something we do all the time, Mulder?" she scoffed, deliberately missing his point.

"Actually until two days ago we've been pretty good about not crossing the line on the job. Besides, you know what I mean," he responded, drilling his gaze into hers. And she did, but in that moment she didn't want any damn introspection, hers or his.

She pressed herself against him in an attempt to cut him off and hopefully distract him as she herself was distracted. Then with one arm around his neck and one hand unclasping her bra, she refocused on coaxing his mouth open with hers.

"Shcuh-ly. . ." he said, muffled against her lips, but with a clear tone of hesitation.

"Mulder just shut up, okay?" she asked, and reached back for his collar.

He broke their connection again and she wanted to cry with frustration. "Just an hour ago you wouldn't even crack a smile at a passing joke about this," he said, his hazel eyes searching her blue ones. "And now you're jumping me over casefiles. This just isn't like you."

In retrospect she knew that the reason she hadn't paid attention to the joke was because it hit too close to home. She'd already had so little resolve in keeping up the armor, and she'd been holding onto it as tightly as she could.

Well, it was too late now.

"Save your analyzing for our profile, Mulder" she told him, and finally he remained still for long enough for her to undo the remaining buttons and tug his shirt down his arms in triumph.

He sighed heavily and was about to speak again when Scully decided to change her strategy. She paused in the act of ridding him of his undershirt and looked up into his face. "Please, Mulder," she asked, her voice now soft. "I just want to take a break from all of this, if only for a little while. I know it's unusual, and it goes against what I said earlier, but I guess it's not a secret that this case has been. . .difficult. I need you. . . us." Scully didn't know if she was being manipulative or if she being more truthful than she knew; she couldn't say for certain _why_ she wanted him so badly in this moment, she only knew that she did.

His eyes continued to search hers for another moment, then something relented and he nodded. Scully knew that these circumstances were irregular and he was only consenting for her sake, but she felt a hard, victorious smile touch her face nonetheless. She pulled his tee shirt over his head while Mulder's hands traced up and down the contours of her back, and his head dipped so that he could kiss and nuzzle the crook of her neck. She needed something more than that, though. His touches were too tender and gentle, and she needed something passionate and intense in order to sear away the churning thoughts in her mind. She wanted Mulder to make her forget her own name, almost literally.

She pushed him back down against the bed frame, straddling his hips, and he looked up at her with his mouth parted and with eyes that were quickly changing from confused and concerned to dark and aroused.

Grasping the sides of his face and leaning in again, she kissed him with a desperation and a need that she hadn't realized was within her, then grinded her hips against his, which elicited a hoarse groan from Mulder. His hands flew up to her waist then skimmed up her sides to cup and knead her breasts, while she still hungrily explored his mouth with her lips and tongue.

Abruptly she was on her back; he had rolled them over and then sat up. She was ready to protest, then felt the buttons and zipper of her trousers being undone, followed by the warm touch of Mulder's dexterous fingers moving under the band and easing them – and her underwear - off her hips. Panting, she grabbed his head and clutched onto his hair, and she felt his breath on her inner thigh as he paused to press his lips just inside her knee, then returned to kiss her deeply.

Impatient, she reached down and tugged his boxers down his legs, and without breaking the contact of their lips he kicked them off the rest of the way, before tilting his head to the side and intensifying the kiss further. She whimpered into his mouth, then clutched onto his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist.

He pulled back for just a moment and rested his forehead against hers, before glancing down into her eyes. "Love you," he told her in a husky voice.

She nodded quickly, then hated how her eyes began to sting (_yet again_) and to hide it she began kissing his jaw, his throat, his chest. . .anywhere she could reach. He gave another low groan and grabbed her breasts again.

"More," she ordered, and he handled them more roughly, and even leaned in to take them into his mouth.

"Yes," she said, then reached between them to grasp him.

They joined together quickly, without further preamble, and if Mulder was still preoccupied by concern for Scully's state of mind, it seemed too overwhelmed by her unmitigated lust. He more than willingly conceded to every demand she made of him; when she insisted 'faster,' he braced himself and doubled his efforts, and when she moaned 'deeper' he grasped her legs and found a new angle.

But it still wasn't quite enough to rid herself of the intangible heartache she was feeling, and she rolled them over again so that she could take control. He looked up at her, his eyes dark and his expression singularly concentrated, and she tried to lose herself in his hungry expression, the mounting pleasure and how much - yes - she was in love with him. But she knew that the ferocity with which she was making love to him was the very thing that would make it end sooner. . . and then what? She flushed the thoughts from her mind and refocused on the sight below her.

Mulder's eyes were becoming unfocused and his breath was erratic. He was much closer than she was, and she gritted her teeth in frustration and poured all her consciousness into the friction being generated where they met. She let the feeling take over her, and finally she succeeded in being lost in sensation. It was broken only briefly when Mulder pulled her down into a tight embrace, taking back control and increasing the tempo even further. Sweat was pouring off his brow and the sight of his face, frozen almost as if in agony, wiped her mind even further. She pressed her face into her neck, threw her arms around his shoulders, and hung on. Soon she was right there with Mulder, and for the first time ever since they'd had sex, they actually climaxed at the same time.

A moment later they were both lying on their backs, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch their breaths. Mulder was the first to lift his head, and when Scully didn't meet his gaze, he gathered her in his arms and pulled her against his chest.

"You're a thousand miles away," he observed after another moment, but she made no reply. She wasn't ready to go back to the real world yet, and wanted to bask in the afterglow for as long as possible.

"Scully. . . that was. . ." He seemed at a loss for words, and Scully guessed that he was torn between praising what had just happened, and not wanting to condone the motivations for _why_ it had happened.

He settled for "I've never seen you like that." A moment later he added, "It was unbe_liev_ably sexy, but-"

At that inevitable 'but,' Scully groaned and shook her head into his chest. "Mulder, you're ruining it."

He lapsed into silence and Scully was grateful, even though she could sense the wheels in his mind tuning – and she was the focus of all that brainpower. She was the human puzzle he was trying to solve.

"I'm going to take a shower," she finally said, the real world having settled into their room nonetheless, but Mulder tightened his hold around her possessively.

"Just stay another moment." He kissed her forehead lingeringly, tenderly, but for some reason that only made her want to escape more.

"We should be getting back to work Mulder," she told him. "I shouldn't have waylaid us like that."

"Well the pun there is just too obvious," Mulder teased, trying for a joke to add some levity to the awkward atmosphere in the room, but she only gave him a perfunctory half-smile that didn't touch her eyes.

"'Scuse me," she said, scooting out from his arms.

"Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma'am," he said in a joking tone, but she heard the hurt penetrating through.

As she left the room, she could picture him in her mind's eye: lying alone on the bed, hand extended out across where she had just been, an expression of worry and aggravation on his face.

She felt guilty that she had used him, and she felt even guiltier than he was apparently aware of it, but she was half convinced that it had worked, and that she had expended the nervous energy that had been so plaguing her prior to their afternoon quickie.

She used the shower as a buffer to further talk herself into this frame of mind, and by the time she emerged Mulder passed by her to reach the bathroom with barely a glance. On one hand she was relieved, but on another she registered that this was passive-aggression.

When he re-entered the room she was fully dressed, and she was further relieved to see that he had taken his clothes in with him and was dressed in his suit trousers, belt and a tee shirt.

They were back in their armor and Agent Scully and Agent Mulder to each other once more, at least at the surface. She couldn't shake the strange certainty that was usually _Mulder's_ area that as much as they were risking professionally with an independent investigation, it was their personal lives that were going to suffer the fallout of this case. Sleeping with Mulder had sapped her of that frustrating, unproductive nervous energy, but now a cold, vague feeling of dread took its place.

Irritated, she flipped open the file she had abandoned before, resolved not to give in to the absurd and _baseless_ anxiety. Even in the highly unlikely event that anything should happen to affect their relationship, it would not be enough to dissuade her from pursuing this case to its conclusion. That was something that both "Agent Scully" and "Dana" could agree upon.

* * *

**I don't even know if people are reading X-Files fanfic anymore, but if you are and you enjoyed this, I'd love to hear from you!**


End file.
